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MOE RHINE
UNIVERSITY
OF FLORIDA
LIBRARIES
Architecture and Fine Arts
Library
Digitized by the Internet Archive
in 2011 with funding from
LYRASIS Members and Sloan Foundation
http://www.archive.org/details/merchantsofart1800seli
MERCHANTS OF ART
GERMAIN SELIGMAN
MERCHANT
OF ART: 1880-1960
Eighty Years of Professional Collecting
APPLETON- CENTURY- CROFTS, INC.;
NEW YORK
SWSrn
ARCH a
KiNE ARTS
LIBRARY.
Copyright © 1961 by Germain Seligman
All rights reserved. This book, or parts
thereof, must not be reproduced in any form
without permission of the publisher.
Library of Congress Catalogue Card Number: 61-15096
Printed in the United States of America
Grateful acknowledgment is made to the publishers for permission to quote
material appearing on the following pages:
Page 23, extract from Frederick Lewis Allen's The Big Change (New York:
Harper & Brothers).
Pages 37-38, extract from Marquis de Castellane's How I Discovered Amer-
ica (New York: Alfred A. Knopf, Inc.).
In loving devotion this book
is dedicated to my father,
Jacques Seligmann.
Acknowledgments
Several years ago when the idea of writing a book about my father and
the collectors of his time was still germinating, a conversation with the late
Francis Henry Taylor, then Director of the Metropolitan Museum, spurred
the thought into action. His monumental study of art collecting in an earlier
time, The Taste of Angels, had just been published, and he was acutely aware
of the value of first-hand accounts by those who had actually participated in
the events about which he wrote. If, therefore, these recollections of my fa-
ther, the firm which he founded some eighty years ago, and the collectors
who have crossed its threshold prove to be of value to the art historian and
of interest to the layman, their thanks, and mine, are due Mr. Taylor for his
encouragement.
Unfortunately, the earlier pages are not as comprehensive as they might
have been, for most of the records of the Paris firm were destroyed during
World War II, and the records of the New York firm prior to 1911 are meager.
Thus a great deal has perforce been written from memory, which fortunately
serves well for events which took place in one's early years, reinforced by
invaluable help from the many friends who have so generously placed their
own records at my disposal.
Foremost among these, again, I have to thank the late Francis Henry Taylor
and the members of the Metropolitan Museum staff, especially Albert Ten
Eyck Gardner, then Archivist, for his unfailing patience and kindness; the
late Theodore Y. Hobby, keeper of the Altaian Collection, whose knowledge
of that great period of collecting was most precious to me; Elizabeth Gardner
whose knowledge of all the great paintings in the museum has saved me much
time in research; and James J. Rorimer, the Museum's present Director for
assistance in straightening out the ramifications of the Morgan Collection.
My especial thanks go to Frederick B. Adams, Jr., of the Morgan Library
for giving so freely of his time and for his patience in answering the many
questions I put to him. Miss Felice Stampfle and Mrs. Francena Harris were
no less generous and cooperative.
Franklin M. Biebel, Director of the Frick Collection, went to no end of
vii
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
trouble to throw light on problems presented to him. As for the Frick Art
Reference Library, I wonder how many books on art would ever be written
were it not for Mrs. Henry W. Howell, Jr., and her able staff.
The late Dr. W. R. Valentiner, whose tenure at the Metropolitan Museum
coincided with the most active years of Jacques Seligmann in the United
States, was kind enough to assist me with reminiscences and data.
My grateful thanks are also extended to all the museum officials and private
collectors who so generously allowed me to reproduce works from their col-
lections and who supplied missing information.
Assistance was given no less willingly by European friends and I deeply
regret that these words appear too late to reach the eyes of two of them —
Carle Dreyfus, late Curator at the Musee du Louvre, and Dr. Leo Planiscig,
formerly of the Vienna Kunsthistorisches Museum. Men of profound knowledge
and great personal charm, both were friends of many years standing whose
passing I mourn.
Among others whose kindness I most appreciate are Mr. and Mrs. Gaston
Briere, Professor Louis Reau, and Andre Blum, as well as certain private
collectors who prefer not to be mentioned by name.
My thanks also are due to Robert Cecil, Assistant Keeper of the Wallace
Collection in London, for assistance and encouragement in the difficult task
of reconstructing the Paris section of that fabulous collection.
One of my best sources of information has been my associate, Mrs. Theresa
D. Parker, who came to the firm in 1924 to do two weeks' work and has re-
mained at my side for more than thirty years. Her vigilant eyes and ears have
given her an insight into and an understanding of events which had escaped
me, and she has recalled to me others which I had forgotten completely. Betty
Morrison and Martha Barton Robertson, also of the firm, have been of the
greatest help.
And, of course, Ethlyne, my wife, has been constantly at my elbow to bring
order and method into the heterogeneous accumulation of names and events.
It is truly as much her book as it is mine.
Last, but by no means least, my undying gratitude is due to Mima, Mrs.
George F. Porter, for the peace and serenity which surrounded us at Les
Mas, where much of this was written, and for the patience and enthusiasm
she displayed as captive audience.
G. S.
Les Mas
Ojai, California, 1959
vm
Contents
ILLUSTRATIONS xi
INTRODUCTION xix
1: JACQUES SELIGMANN AND THE RUE DES MATHURINS 1
2: A COLLECTORS PARADISE: PARIS BEFORE 1914 10
3: A DEALER'S PARADISE: NEW YORK BEFORE 1914 18
4: THE PALAIS DE SAGAN 30
5: THE FABULOUS BARONS DE ROTHSCHILD 48
6: ST. PETERSBURG, 1910 60
7: J. PDZRPONT MORGAN 69
8: THE UNITED STATES, 1913 78
9: THE WALLACE-BAGATELLE COLLECTION 92
10: THE WAR YEARS, 1914-1918 104
11: END OF AN ERA 117
12: SOME COLLECTORS 129
13: EVOLUTIONS OF THE TWENTIES 151
14: THE UNREAL YEARS THE 1920's AND THE AFTERMATH 158
15: Moscow, 1928 169
16: THE TIHRTTES, NEW YORK 177
17: THE THIRTIES, PARIS 184
18: THE EUROPEAN SCENE 192
IX
contents
19: if one sells one must buy 208
20: the rise of the american museum 218
21: the second world war 230
22: the postwar scene 239
23: sculpture 248
24: summing up 260
notes on the inventory of the wallace
collection of paris 267
INDEX 279
Illustrations
Jacques Seligmann Frontispiece
houdon, "Madame de Jaucourt." Paris, the Louvre 1
coysevox, "Bust of Robert de Cotte." New York, The Frick
Collection 2a
leoni, Leone, "Bust of Alfonso d'Avalos." New York, The Pierpont
Morgan Library 2b
fragonard, "Garcon aux Cerises." New York, Private Collection 3
franco-flemish Tapestry, 15th century, "Courtiers with Roses."
New York, The Metropolitan Museum of Art 4
J. Pierpont Morgan 5
Vienna or augsburg, 16th century, Book cover. New York, The
Pierpont Morgan Library 6
etruscan, 4th century b. c, Cist. New York, The Pierpont Morgan
Library 7
byzantine, 11th century, Cloisonne enamels. New York, The
Metropolitan Museum of Art 8 a-d
Austrian, 14th century, Hexagonal ciborium. New York, The
Pierpont Morgan Library 9a
German, 17th century, Chalice. New York, The Metropolitan
Museum of Art 9b
rhenish, 14th century, Portable Altar. New York, The Pierpont
Morgan Library 10a
German (Speyer), 14th century, Altar-tabernacle or casket. New
York, The Pierpont Morgan Library 10b
German ( Cologne ) , 12th century, Ivory plaque. New York, The
Metropolitan Museum of Art 11a
carolingian (Reichenau), 10th century, Ivory plaque. New York,
The Metropolitan Museum of Art lib
xi
ILLUSTRATIONS
French, 14th century, Marble, "A King of France and his
consort." New York, The Metropolitan Museum of Art 12a, b
French, School of Michel Colombe, Limestone "Pieta" from the
Chateau de Biron. New York, The Metropolitan Museum of
Art 13
desiderio da settignano, "Bust of Marietta Strozzi." New York,
The Pierpont Morgan Library 14
rarbet, de lyon, Jehan, "Angelot du Lude," Bronze Louis of
France. New York, The Frick Collection 15
coysevox, "The Grand Dauphin," Marble. Washington, D. C,
National Gallery of Art 16
Part of the Wallace-Bagatelle Collection in the rue Laffitte house 17a
Facade on the garden of the Palais de Sagan 17b
French, 18th century, Pair of Louis XVI "Mustapha" consoles.
New York, The Frick Collection 18a, b
French, 18th century, Desk of King Louis XVI. New York, The
Metropolitan Museum of Art 19
bouchardon, "L'Amour taillant son arc," Marble. Washington,
D. C, National Gallery of Art 20
houdon, "Louise and Alexandre Brongniard," Marble.
Washington, D. C, National Gallery of Art 21a, b
lancret, Overdoor from the Chateau of Marly-le-roi. San
Francisco, De Young Memorial Museum 22a
boucher, "Cupid and the Graces." Washington, D. C, National
Gallery of Art 22b
pater, "Le Concert Champetre." Paris, Private Collection 23a
roucher, "The Birth and Triumph of Venus." New York, The
Metropolitan Museum of Art 23b
houdon, "Sophie Arnould as Iphigenie," Marble. Paris, the
Louvre 24
French, c. 1500, Tapestry, "Episode in Feudal Life." Chicago, The
Art Institute of Chicago 25
master of the vrRGiN among vrRGiNS, "The Adoration of the
Magi." Berlin, The Kaiser Friedrich Museum 26
quercia, Jacopo della, "Madonna of Humility," Marble.
Washington, D. C, National Gallery of Art 27
French, 16th century, "Saint Barbara," Marble. Washington,
D. C, National Gallery of Art 28
French, 17th century, Beauvais Tapestry, "Amphitrite." Paris,
Banque de France 29
master of the saint Barbara legend, "Scene from the Life
of Saint Barbara." Brussels, Musees Royaux 30a
xii
ILLUSTRATIONS
cima da conegliano, "Madonna and Child with Saint Jerome
and Saint John the Baptist." Washington, D. C, National
Gallery of Art 30b
rembrandt, "Portrait of Joris de Caullery." San Francisco, De
Young Memorial Museum 31
robert, Hubert, "Imaginary View of Rome." New York, Private
Collection 32
fragonard, "Dites, done, s'il vous plait." Essen, Folkwang
Museum 33
Herbert N. Straus 34a
Henry Walters 34b
George Blumenthal 35a
Patio from the Chateau of Velez Blanco as installed in the
Blumenthal House 35b
joos van gent, "The Adoration of the Magi." New York, The
Metropolitan Museum of Art 36
hugo van der goes, "Donor with Saint John the Baptist."
Baltimore, The Walters Art Gallery 37
mosan, 12th century, Gable end of the Chasse of Sainte-Ode.
Baltimore, The Walters Art Gallery 38
French (Limoges), Suzanne de Court Enamel plate, "The
Passage of the Red Sea." Baltimore, The Walters Art Gallery 39a
south German, 16th century, Knight's necklace. Baltimore, The
Walters Art Gallery 39b
french ( Limoges ) , 12th-early 13th century, Champleve enamel,
"Annunciation." New York, The Metropolitan Museum of Art 40a
Spanish (Valencian), 15th century, Lusterware plate, "Saint
George and the Dragon." New York, The Metropolitan Museum
of Art 40b
lombardi, Tullio, "Bust of a Young Woman," Marble. New York,
The Metropolitan Museum of Art 41a
lombardi, Tullio, "Bust of a Woman," Marble. New York,
Collection Richard Weininger 41b
sansovino, Jacopo, attributed to, "Saint John the Baptist,"
Bronze. Baltimore, The Walters Art Gallery 42a
riccio, Bronze lamp. New York, Collection Richard Weininger 42b
Spanish (Catalan), the Master of Soriguerola, late 13th century,
Altar Frontal. Barcelona, Museum of Art 43
Ingres, "Family of Lucien Bonaparte." Cambridge, The Fogg Art
Museum 44
daved, "Portrait of Napoleon I." Cambridge, The Fogg Art
Museum 45a
Xlll
ILLUSTRATIONS
Lawrence, "Portrait of Mirza Abu Talet Kahn, Ambassador of
Persia." New York, Collection William M. Chadbourne 45b
delacroix, "Musiciens arabes." Zurich, Collection Emil Buhrle 46a
chasseriau, "Combat Arabe." Cambridge, The Fogg Art
Museum 46b
renoir, "Portrait of Monsieur Choquet." Cambridge, The Fogg
Art Museum 47
French, 15th century, Tapestry, "Quo Vadis." Glasgow, Glasgow
Art Gallery and Museum 48
French, 18th century, Beauvais Tapestry from the series "Four
Ages of Life." Cincinnati, Cincinnati Art Museum 49
quesnel, Francois, "Portrait of Monsieur de Canisy." New York,
Collection Herbert N. and Therese K. Straus 50a
gaertner, Peter, "Ott-Heinrich von der Pfalz." Lamoine, Maine,
Collection Gifford Cochran 50b
watteau, "Two Studies of a Woman." New York, Collection
Herbert N. and Therese K. Straus 51a
fragonard, "Les Jets d'Eau." Paris, Private Collection, formerly
(present whereabouts unknown) 51b
quentin de la tour, "Monsieur de Laideguive, Notaire."
Barcelona, Museum of Art 52
fragonard, "Monsieur de la Breteche." New York, Private
Collection 53
holbein, "Portrait of Sir Henry Guildford." Detroit, Detroit
Institute of Arts 54
cellini, "Venus and Amor," Bronze. Vienna, Collection August
Lederer, formerly (present whereabouts unknown) 55
fragonard, "La Rentree du Troupeau." Worcester, Worcester Art
Museum 56
guardi, Francesco, "The Judgment of Paris." Switzerland, Private
Collection 57
French, 15th century, "Monk in Prayer." New York, The
Metropolitan Museum of Art 58
verrocchio, "Alexander the Great," Marble. Washington, D. C,
National Gallery of Art 59
French ( Burgundian ) , 15th century "Virgin and Child,"
Limestone. New York, The Metropolitan Museum of Art 60
cranach, "Freiin von Schenck-Winterstein." Maidenhead Thicket,
England, Collection Sir Thomas Merton 61
bonnard, "La Palme." Washington, D. C, The Phillips Collection 62a
vuillard, "Femme Balayant dans un Interieur." Washington,
D. C, The Phillips Collection 62b
xiv
ILLUSTRATIONS
toulouse-lautrec, "Jane Avril sortant du Moulin-Rouge."
London, The Courtauld Institute 63
seurat, "Study for 'La Parade/ " Zurich, Collection Emil Buhrle 64a
seurat, "Le Phare de Honfleur." London, Private Collection 64b
renoir, "Le Bal a Bougival." Boston, The Museum of Fine Arts 65
gauguin, "Tehura." Chicago, Collection Mrs. Chauncey
McCormick 66a
gauguin, "The Queen of the Areois." New York, Collection
William S. Paley 66b
cezanne, "L'Estaque." New York, Collection William S. Paley 67
picasso, "Les Demoiselles d'Avignon." New York, The Museum
of Modern Art 68
picasso, "La Vie." Cleveland, Cleveland Museum of Art 69
braque, "Le Jour." Ojai, California, Mrs. George F. Porter 70a
BRAQUE, "Le Gueridon." New York, The Museum of Modern Art 70b
daumier, "L'Amateur d'Estampes." Chicago, The Art Institute of
Chicago 71a
daumier, "Les Deux Confreres." Zurich, Collection Emil Buhrle 71b
degas, "L'Essayage chez la Modiste." New York, The Museum of
Modern Art 72
seurat, "The Beach at Le Crotoy." Beverly Hills, California,
Collection Edward G. Robinson 73
seurat, "L'Artiste dans son Atelier." Philadelphia, Philadelphia
Museum of Art 74a
van gogh, "Le Postier." Los Angeles, The Los Angeles County
Museum 74b
degas, "La Grande Danseuse," Bronze. Beverly Hills, California,
Collection Edward G. Robinson 75a
RENom, "Venus Victrix," Bronze. Sao Paulo, Brazil, Museu de
Arte 75b
degas, "Portrait of Diego Martelli." Buenos Aires, Museo Nacional
de Bellas Artes 76a
degas, "Chevaux de Courses." Cleveland, The Cleveland Museum
of Art 76b
van gogh, "Sous Bois." Cincinnati, Private Collection 77
ingres, "Portrait of Madame Moitessier." London, The National
Gallery 78
davtd, "Bonaparte, First Consul." Paris, The Louvre 79
ingres, "Odalisque en Grisaille." New York, The Metropolitan
Museum of Art 80
goya, "The Architect Don Juan Antonio Cuervo." Cleveland,
The Cleveland Museum of Art 81
xv
ILLUSTRATIONS
German, 15th century, Baptismal Font, Bronze. Boston, The
Museum of Fine Arts 82
French, 16th century, Parade Armor of King Henri II. New
York, The Metropolitan Museum of Art 83
French (Burgundian), 15th century, "Two Mourners from the
Tombs of the Dukes of Burgundy," Marble. Cleveland, The
Cleveland Museum of Art 84
tiepolo, G. B., "The Martyrdom of St. Sebastian." Cleveland, The
Cleveland Museum of Art 85
neroccio, "The Rapalano Altar." Washington, D. C, National
Gallery of Art 86
tintoretto, "Christ at the Sea of Galilee." Washington, D. C,
National Gallery of Art 87
Italian, 14th century, "The Holy Family Leaving Nazareth."
New York, The Pierpont Morgan Library 88
memling, "Madonna and Child Enthroned." Kansas City, Nelson
Gallery 89
courbet, "La Grand-Mere." Minneapolis, Minneapolis Institute
of Arts 90
Monet, "Mme. Paul, Patissiere a Pourville." Cambridge, The
Fogg Art Museum 91
picasso, "Head of a Boy." Cleveland, The Cleveland Museum of
Art 92
renoir, "Portrait of Mile. Lacaux." Cleveland, The Cleveland
Museum of Art 93
picasso, "Cubist Composition." Cincinnati, Private Collection 94a
gris, "Portrait of Picasso." Chicago, The Art Institute of Chicago 94b
la fresnaye, "La Vie Conjugale." Minneapolis, The Minneapolis
Institute of Arts 95
matisse, "Carnaval de Nice." Zurich, Collection Emil Biihrle 96a
dufy, "Port du Havre." Toronto, The Art Gallery of Toronto 96b
la fresnaye, "Le Quatorze Juillet." Soda Springs, California,
Collection J. Jerome Hill 97
murillo, "Christ after the Flagellation." Boston, The Museum of
Fine Arts 98
tintoretto, "The Baptism of Christ." Cleveland, The Cleveland
Museum of Art 99
leoni, Pompeo, "The Duke of Maqueda and his Wife," Marble.
Buffalo, The Albright Art Gallery 100
ptlon, "Saint Barbara," Marble. Kansas City, Nelson Gallery 101
fragonard, "Portrait of Hubert Robert." Washington, D. C.,
National Gallery of Art 102
xvi
ILLUSTRATIONS
Ingres, "Portrait of the Comtesse de La Rue." Zurich, Collection
Emil Biihrle 103
kulmbach, Hans von, "Mary Salome, Zebedee and their sons."
St. Louis, The City Art Museum of St. Louis 104a
schaffner, "A Lady of the Schad von Mittelbiberach Family
of Ulm." Denver, Denver Art Museum 104b
mantegna, "Portrait of a Man." Washington, D. C, National
Gallery of Art 105
German (Mainz), 11th century, Missal. Geneva, Martin Bodmer
Library 106a, b
English, c. 1000, Manuscript of the Four Gospels. New York,
The Pierpont Morgan Library 107
ingres, "Portrait of Dr. de France." Zurich, Collection Emil
Biihrle 108
vermeer, "Portrait of a Young Girl." New York, Collection of Mr.
and Mrs. Charles B. Wrightsman 109
champaigne, Philippe de, "The Vision of St. Joseph." London,
The National Gallery 110
corot, "Judith." New York, Collection Mr. and Mrs. Germain
Seligman 111
gibran, Kahlil, "The Voice in the Wilderness," Welded iron.
Philadelphia, The Episcopal Academy 112
lebrun, Rico, "Crucifixion Triptych." Syracuse, Syracuse
University 113
bologna, Giovanni da, "Cupid," Marble. Seattle, Seattle Art
Museum 114
maiano, Benedetto da, "Madonna and Child," Marble.
Washington, D. C, National Gallery of Art 115
courbet, "La Grotte de la Loue." Washington, D. C, National
Gallery of Art 116
delacroix, "Apollo Conquering the Serpent Python." New York,
Collection Mr. and Mrs. Germain Seligman 117
redon, "Le Calvaire." Zurich, Collection Emile Biihrle 118a
redon, "Saint Georges." New York, Collection Dr. and Mrs.
George E. Murphy 118b
degas, "Danseuses au Foyer." Zurich, Collection Emil Biihrle 119
tiepolo, G. B., "The Meeting of Abraham and Melchizedek."
Chicago, The Art Institute of Chicago 120
Leonard C. Hanna, Jr. 121a
Emil Biihrle 121b
campione, Bonino da, "Prudentia," Marble. Washington, D. C,
National Gallery of Art 122
xvii
ILLUSTRATIONS
orcagna, "Angel with Tambourine." Washington, D. C, National
Gallery of Art 123
franco-Spanish, 15th century, "Piete Nostre Seigneur." Paris, The
Louvre 124
French, 15th century, "Holy Trinity." Cleveland, The Cleveland
Museum of Art 125
French (He de France), c. 1300, "Holy Trinity," Marble.
Portland, Oregon, Portland Art Museum 126
French, 16th century, "Autumn," Hard stone. London, Victoria
and Albert Museum 127
vouet, "Allegory of Peace." Paris, The Louvre 128
xvin
Introduction
There have been art dealers as long as there have been art col-
lectors, which is to say as long as there have been works of art, and
art dealing has been big business at some period in the life of every
great capital. The social status of the dealer, like that of the col-
lector, has ranged from peddler to prince; some have been ignorant
of all values except the monetary, others have been cultivated
amateurs; some have been themselves practicing artists, others have
subsidized, occasionally victimized, the practicing artist; some have
been the proprietors of great galleries, others have sold works of art
as a side line. It is safe to say that works of art in public museums
throughout the world today have passed through the hands of about
an equal number of dealers and collectors, with an equal proportion
of love and understanding. In the United States, particularly, the
total of works of art in public collections which came there, directly
or indirectly, through the efforts of a dozen leading firms is im-
pressive.
In view of this, it is curious how few dealers' names are recorded
in the histories of art. Libraries abound with histories of collecting,
but no one has undertaken a serious study of the development of
the art trade. The late Francis Henry Taylor touched lightly on this
phase of the art world as a corollary in his book on collecting,
The Taste of Angels. Frits Lugt, in connection with his exhaustive
compilation of collectors' marks, has done much valuable research,
particularly for the art trade of Holland. But the definitive history
is still to be written.
Until the 17th century, the art dealer was more agent than shop-
xix
INTRODUCTION
keeper, working on salary or commission for wealthy or noble clients.
Often he was an artist who advised his patron in the filling of his
cabinet, or he was an importer who handled objets d'art et de
curiosite along with his regular line of silks and spices. Being largely
a middle-man, he had little need for storage space, and his noble
clientele preferred to be waited upon in their own palaces. It was
the rise of the rich burgher class in Holland, themselves merchants
and businessmen, that brought about the change; they had no
prejudices about shopping for works of art to adorn their homes.
Thus the sensible Dutch, who since the 15th century had strictly
regulated the trade in works of art through the Guild of Saint Luc,
established themselves in shops where they could display their
wares and receive their bourgeois clients. Though the agent-artist-
adviser formula continued throughout the 18th century — and, in-
deed, exists in our day — the pattern for the modern merchant of
works of art had been outlined. It remained for the 19th and 20th
century firms, however, to develop art dealing into a career and
a profession.
The art dealer of today is more often than not a man who has
prepared himself by years of study in colleges, universities, or such
special schools as the Ecole du Louvre of Paris or the Institute of
Fine Arts in New York. Some, like the amateur marchand of yester-
day, choose to deal in works of art because it affords an opportunity
to live and work with beautiful objects in a possessive way; others
because it is more exciting, and incidentally more lucrative, than a
scholarly career; still others, like myself, have grown up in a tradi-
tion and a business inherited from their fathers. Almost all are col-
lectors in their private lives.
If I cannot in the space of these pages undertake a history of
all our worthy predecessors, I can record the activities of one of the
greatest of them, Jacques Seligmann, and some of my own adven-
tures with the heritage he left to me — a vocation and an avocation.
All the works of art reproduced in this book have at some time
been in the hands of the firm which Jacques Seligmann founded,
first, in Paris and, later, in New York or the firms which stemmed
from it, De Hauke & Co., New York, and G. Seligmann et Cie., Paris.
Inevitably, there will be differences of opinion about the interest
or merit of some which have been included in comparison with
others which have been omitted. The destruction of the files of the
xx
INTRODUCTION
Paris firm made it impossible to trace certain objects which it might
have been desirable to reproduce; others have been left out in
deference to the wishes of certain collectors, particularly among the
older generation in Europe. Furthermore, the technicalities of re-
production quite often dictate a decision to omit an object rather
than give a false impression of its beauty and importance. Even so,
my original selection ran to more than four hundred objects and the
choice of a reasonable number was not easy, for one is naturally
attached to every item which has passed through one's hands.
The final choice was thus made with two purposes: first, to point
out the variety of fields with which the firm is and has been identi-
fied; second, a natural sequence, to demonstrate the evolution of
collecting during eighty years. If the selection seems heavy in cer-
tain fields, this is due to these very trends in collecting.
To emphasize these two aims, the date of purchase or its approx-
imation has been given for each object, along with the name of the
original purchaser and that of the present owner, if they are not
the same.
xxi
MERCHANTS OF ART
CHAPTER I
Jacques Seligmann
and the Rue des Mathurins
Jacques Seligmann began his career in the art world at the
age of sixteen as a humble assistant in the firm of Maitre
Paul Chevallier, the leading Parisian auctioneer of those days. The
auction rooms of Paris, in the Hotel Drouot, became his university.
Nothing comparable to the hotel des ventes of Paris exists in the
United States, so an explanation should perhaps be made of its im-
portance as a training ground for the eye and the mind of the art
dealer and the collector.
A French auction is an official function and in Paris there are only
a limited number of auctioneers. Each is duly licensed by the govern-
ment, and the office is a highly respected, almost hereditary one. It
is, in a manner of speaking, a fiduciary office, for by French law the
estate of a deceased must, under certain conditions (usually when
minor children are involved), be liquidated at auction. The posses-
sions of rich and poor alike are subject to this law.
Thus day after day at the dusty, dirty old Hotel Drouot in one of
the busiest sections of Paris, twenty-odd rooms are filled with every
conceivable kind of human possession, from the trash of metal bed-
steads and dilapidated kitchenware to the most treasured items of a
great art collection. These come from all corners of France, for while
every city has its hotel des ventes, Paris is the most active market.
Particularly in past days, collections from all over Europe might be
added to the melange. The natural human instinct for collecting
things, the traditional thrift of the French which makes them reluc-
tant to dispose of anything, and their equally traditional respect for
MERCHANTS OF ART
works of art as capital investment combine to give variety and fasci-
nation to the flood of objects which passes daily through the auction
room doors.
Sales often take place without benefit of catalogue. There is little
time for preliminary exhibition and none for attractive display. It
takes flair, instinct, and knowledge to detect quickly the item of
value which may be hidden among the tons of rubbish. Then the
finder must make up his mind at once, not only because time is
limited, but also because a too long examination may draw the atten-
tion of another prospector and the risk of loss or competition in the
bidding.
That mistakes are made here is obvious, but what ideal training it
is for the eye and the senses! It is in this experimental manner that
the surest knowledge is acquired and in the making of mistakes that
unforgettable lessons are learned. My father used to call it a "tuition
fee" and would add that only a conceited fool claims he never makes
mistakes.
It is easy for me to reconstruct that phase of my father's training,
for as soon as I was old enough to benefit by it, my father took or sent
me to the Hotel Drouot as often as possible, to go carefully through
every room and report my findings. Thanks to his friendship with the
officials, I was sometimes allowed to sit at the table next to the expert
( in a French auction it is the expert, not the auctioneer, who describes
the object for the bidders ) and listen to his remarks about each ob-
ject. While the bidding was going on, there was often time for me to
examine the next object and ask if the leg of a chair was not a later
addition or the nose on a statue a restoration. It was not necessary for
every object to be a fine one — one learns to discriminate only by see-
ing all kinds. It was my father's conviction that flair, the instinct that
makes a man react immediately to quality, was indispensable but was
not sufficient by itself; it must be backed by experience. If flair allows
one to ferret out the unusual and the beautiful, it is only experience
which teaches the responsive eye to detect restorations or out-and-out
forgeries.
That Jacques Seligmann had flair there is no doubt, and it must
have manifested itself early, for he soon left Chevallier to work with
Charles Mannheim, the foremost expert in medieval art and an ad-
visor to the great collecting family of Rothschild. As experience began
to give him confidence, he bought and sold an occasional item for his
Jacques Seligmann and the Rue des Mathurins
own account, gradually accumulating enough capital to launch his
own venture into the art business.
About 1880, when my father would have been twenty-two, he
opened what must have been a very humble shop on the rue des
Mathurins. I am not at all sure that it was really a shop, perhaps only
a room under the family apartment, for Baron Edmond de Rothschild,
in describing it to me years later, referred to the activity going on
in the courtyard when he called there to see some works of art newly
arrived from England. This must have been at the very beginning,
for the Baron mentioned that it was shortly after his own marriage in
1878 when he was augmenting the furnishings of his home. "Works of
art of all periods were piled one upon another," he said, "but when
your father sent word of a new shipment, we always came at once,
for should too many hours go by, we would be too late."
The man in his early twenties who could bring a Rothschild hur-
rying to the unfashionable rue des Mathurins was born in Frankfurt
on the Main on September 18, 1858, second son of a moderately suc-
cessful flour merchant. He talked little of his early life, and I am under
the impression that his childhood was not entirely happy. His father
died when the children were quite young, and my grandmother,
whom I never knew, was apparently a capable and dynamic woman,
who successfully managed both the business and the raising of four
children. She evidently accomplished the latter with a heavy, and
sometimes hasty, hand. My father was devoted to her as long as she
lived, but there seemed to be little real understanding between them.
Nevertheless, it was doubtless from her that he inherited his energy,
his ambition, and his strong belief in discipline for himself and others.
Perhaps it was from her, too, that he acquired his hatred of Prussian
militarism. An early recollection of which my father often spoke was
the sound of the marching feet of the Prussian army as it paraded
through the streets of Frankfort after the victory of Sadowa in 1866
and the vehement indignation of his mother as she banged the shut-
ters to close out the hated sound. Frankfort had always been a free
city whose citizens bitterly resented what they felt was enslavement
to Prussia. This resentment was a strong factor in Jacques Seligmann's
decision to leave Germany at the age of sixteen. Apparently he had
learned French, which he spoke fluently, in the excellent German
public schools, and it was natural that he should seek his fortune in
MERCHANTS OF ART
the land that had always represented, in his own words, liberty and
freedom. As soon as he was of legal age he became a French citizen,
and he preferred not to remember that he had ever been anything
but French.
The France to which he migrated was making an amazing recovery
from the Franco-Prussian war and, in concert with the rest of Europe,
was embarking upon a great epoch of economic development. The
end of the 19th and the beginning of the 20th centuries were to see
the growth in number and power of the haute bourgeoisie, who would
devote a generous share of their energy and wealth to acquiring
works of art. It was an auspicious moment for Jacques Seligmann's
venture.
Unfortunately, I know very little about these first years. My father
was not given to reminiscences, being completely occupied with the
present and future. The memoirs which he started in his later years
were destroyed along with the firm's Paris records during the hectic
and terrifying days of 1940. My knowledge of the struggling early
years has thus had to come from conversations with those who knew
him and from press accounts.
At the time of my father's death in 1923, William Roberts wrote in
The Times, London, "He began in a small way, buying at small prices
and selling at small profits. He frequently visited London, traveling
third class during the night because it was the cheapest way. When
he started on his own account his sole capital was twenty pounds.
Part of this he invested in an English purchase which he almost im-
mediately sold to a Paris collector for three hundred pounds."
It was one of the first London purchases which brought him to the
attention of Ascher and Charles Wertheimer, proprietors of the great
Bond Street gallery. It was to be a long and mutually profitable asso-
ciation. My father, after some debate with himself, took his courage
in hand late one afternoon and determined to pay a call at this finest,
and most expensive, of London galleries. His English was not then
very accomplished, and upon asking somewhat haltingly if he might
see Mr. Charles Wertheimer, he was informed by the lordly clerk who
greeted him that the gentleman was engaged.
"Engaged?" thought the young caller, "Engaged? Qu'est-ce que
c'est que ca?" He quickly ran over in his mind the vocabulary listed
under the E's in the little French-English dictionary he had been
assiduously studying. "Engaged? Ah, fiance, bon!"
4
Jacques Seligmann and the Rue des Mathurins
With a triumphant smile he asked the clerk to extend his congratu-
lations to Mr. Wertheimer, excused himself for having come at what
was perhaps an inopportune moment, but might he make an appoint-
ment? When it was gently explained to him that this was the tea hour,
and the Messrs. Wertheimer were simply engaged in that sacred Eng-
lish rite, Jacques Seligmann was so shocked by the idea that afternoon
tea might be allowed to interrupt business that he immediately forgot
his timidity and interpreted this as only an excuse to be rid of a youth
of not-too-prosperous appearance. With dignity but firmness he so
insisted that after a few moments one of the two brothers came into
the hallway to inquire into this most unconventional behavior.
My father was impressed by the manner of the great dealer, but
he was determined not to be defeated now that he had come this far.
He explained that he had money to spend, probably not enough to
buy the more expensive works of art they handled, but perhaps suffi-
cient for some lesser, neglected items which might have accumulated
over the years. Wertheimer was evidently so intrigued by this un-
usually frank approach that, after making it clear how contrary this
was to custom at the tea hour, he personally escorted his visitor about
the galleries. He was apparently impressed, too, by the discrimination
and enthusiasm of the stranger and made an appointment for the fol-
lowing morning to close the transaction for several objects.
That evening, in his modest hotel room, Jacques Seligmann added
up the sums which he had committed and was dismayed to find that
his eagerness had carried him considerably beyond his means. There
was nothing to do but explain his plight to Wertheimer the next morn-
ing. He would not ask for credit, but would they be willing to let him
take a part now and set the rest aside for a prescribed length of time?
Again his frankness won; Wertheimer was not only willing; he went
further and offered to consign the balance rather than reserve it.
The story of the deal I heard from my father himself, but I did not
know of the amusing language confusion until a few years ago,
though I understand he told it freely. I doubt if it seemed funny to
him at the time though, and his embarrassment may have reinforced
his later determination to see that his children were not similarly
handicapped. As soon as he could afford it, there was an English
governess in the house and we grew up speaking English as easily as
we did French. Later, we were all required to study German, and it
was a rule of the house that we converse in a different language each
MERCHANTS OF ART
day at mealtime. In addition, as the eldest son, I was sent several
times to England and to Germany, where I lived weeks at a time in
private homes, mainly to learn the language. I was also given a short
course in the Russian language and learned enough of it to get along
years later on the two occasions that I visited Russia.
With the exception of a few big firms of old and honorable tradi-
tion, the art business in the 19th century had been a hand-to-mouth
affair, a great deal of it done through the offices of an amateur mar-
chand or perhaps an artist who acted as advisor and intermediary
for a patron. There was much pettiness and considerable misrepre-
sentation, more often through ignorance than through dishonesty, but
there was sufficient of the latter for many such stories to appear in the
art press of that day.
The average small dealer occasionally acquired an exceptional
work of art for little money, a find, and sold it at a large profit, but
for the most part he simply bought the poor along with the good and
let it go if the percentage of profit was large enough or the need for
cash was pressing. Inventories were small and so were profits.
Jacques Seligmann had broader conceptions; he believed that an
art dealer could be both connoisseur and businessman. He had a tre-
mendous love for his profession and expressed his faith concretely
by a willingness to invest and reinvest his profits in works of art. As
soon as a measure of success allowed him to do so, he bought and
he kept buying. If an immediate sale for an item did not transpire, he
kept it — and bought more. He had little faith or interest in any other
type of investment. The stock market held no lure for him even in the
days of his greatest prosperity, a position possibly reinforced by the
disasters many of his contemporaries had suffered in the crash of the
Union Generale of 1882 and the Panama Canal venture of 1892. "How
can a man of sound mind who knows his own business have greater
faith in the judgment of another for the investment of his money,"
he used to say, flourishing the cane which he always carried, largely
for the purpose of punctuating his words. He had little patience with
dealers who put their profits into other activities and none with the
art broker, who never invested his own money but bought and sold
for the account of another. He reasoned — how can a seller convince
a would-be client of the worth of an object, if he has insufficient faith
to buy it himself?
Buying was the one phase of the business that Jacques Seligmann al-
6
Plate 1
Jean-Antoine Houdon (1741-1826). "Madame de Jaucourt," 1777,
marble, height 26%". Acquired by D. David-Weill, Paris, 1912.
Present collection: The Louvre. Gift of D. David-Weill, Paris.
Plate 2a
Antoine Coysevox (1640-1720).
"Bust of Robert de Cotte," bronze,
height 21". Acquired by D. David-
Weill, Paris, 1910. Present collection:
The Frick Collection, New York.
Plate 2b
Leone Leoni (1509-1590). "Bust of
Alfonso d'Avalos, Marchese del
Vasto," bronze, life-size. From the
collection of the Marchese del Vasto
e Pescara, Naples. Acquired by J. Pier-
pont Morgan, 1908. Present collec-
tion: The Pierpont Morgan Library,
New York.
Plate 3
Jean-Honore Fragonard (1732-1806). "Garcon aux Censes," 16%"xl2%".
From the Prault, Leroy de Senneville and Charras Collections. Acquired by
D. David-Weill, Paris, 1909. Present collection: Private collection, New York.
Plate 4
Franco-Flemish (Arras or Tournai), c. 1435-1440. "Courtiers with Roses," 9' 7"xl0' 11%''
One of a set of three tapestries, presumably made for King Charles VII of France. From th
Sigismond Bardac Collection, Paris. Acquired by the Metropolitan Museum of Art, Rogers Fund, 190S
Plate 5
J. Pierpont Morgan (1837-1913), New York. Portrait by
Frank Holl, 1888, in the Pierpont Morgan Library, New York.
*TJHK
J 2 '>"-4
Vienna or Augsburg, 16th century. Book cover, with the arms of Philip II of Spam, gold, enamel and
jewels, 18" x 13". From the collections of Baron Adolphe and Baron Maurice de Rothschild, Paris.
Acquired by J. Pierpont Morgan, 1909. Present collection: The Pierpont Morgan Library, New York.
Plate 7
Etruscan 4th century B.C. Cist, with cover, bronze, height 14%" x diameter 8%". From the Spitzer
Collection. Acquired by J. Pierpont Morgan, 1907. Present collection: The Pierpont Morgan
Library, New York.
*UM*£f
*£**.
Plate 8a-d
Byzantine, 11th century. Cloisonne enamels, part of a group from the monastery of
Djumati, Georgia, diameter 3M" each. From the Swenigorodskoi Collection, St. Peters-
burg. Acquired by J. Pierpont Morgan, 1910. Present collection: The Metropolitan
Museum of Art. Gift of J. Pierpont Morgan, 1917.
Plate 9a
Austrian (Vienna), early 14th century. Hex-
agonal ciborium, copper-gilt with enamel,
13}6"x3%". From the Abbey of Kloster-
neuburg and the collection of Baron Albert
von Oppenheim, Cologne. Acquired by
J. Pierpont Morgan, 1906. Present collec-
tion: The Pierpont Morgan Library, New
York.
Plate 9b
German, 17th century. Chalice, bearing the
date, 1609, and the Wolff -Metternich arms,
gold, enamel and jewels, height 9" x diame-
ter 6". From the collection of Baron Mayer
Karl von Rothschild, Frankfurt am Main.
Acquired by J. Pierpont Morgan, 1911.
Present collection: The Metropolitan Mu-
seum of Art. Gift of J. Pierpont Morgan,
1917.
urn
Plate 10a
Rhenish, early 14th century. Portable
altar, surmounted by a reliquary cross
silver-gilt with translucent enamels and
jewels, height 10". From the collections
of the Bishop of Lisieux and Wolff-
Metternich. Acquired by J. Pierpont
Morgan, 1911. Present collection: The
Pierpont Morgan Library, New York.
Plate 10b . .i, , i i
German (School of Speyer), early 14th century •Altar-tabernacle
or casket, translucent enamel on silver, 6W x 7%" x 5%". For the
Convent of Lichtenthal, Baden. From the collection of Count
Arco-Zinneberg, Munich. Acquired by J. Pierpont Morgan 1908.
Present collection: The Pierpont Morgan Library, New York.
Plate 11a
German (School of Cologne), late
12th century. "The Three Marys
at the Sepulcher," walrus ivory
plaque, 8%" x 7%". From the col-
lection of Count G. Stroganoff,
Rome. Acquired by George Blii-
menthal, New York, before 1913.
Present collection: The Metropoli-
tan Museum of Art. Gift of George
Blumenthal, 1941.
Plate lib
Carolingian (School of Reichenau), 10th
century. "The Virgin Enthroned," ivory
plaque, 8%" x 5%". From the Spitzer
Collection, Paris, and Baron Albert von
Oppenheim, Cologne. Acquired by J.
Pierpont Morgan, c. 1906. Present col-
lection: The Metropolitan Museum of
Art. Gift of J. Pierpont Morgan, 1917.
. 4. ?<w< *tt;*i«.-it*+i*m > ■**<mtmmt<)mmt-n«iimrm
Plate 12a, b
French, 14th century. "A King of France
(possibly Jean le Bon or Charles V) and
His Consort," marble, height 15%". From
the Gaston Le Breton Collection, Rouen.
Acquired by J. Pierpont Morgan, 1910.
Present collection: The Metropolitan
Museum of Art. Gift of J. Pierpont Mor-
gan, 1917.
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Plate 14
Desiderio da Settignano (1428-1464). "Bust of Marietta Strozzi," mar-
ble, height 21%". From the Strozzi family. Acquired by J. Pierpont Mor-
gan, 1908. Present collection: The Pierpont Morgan Library, New York.
Plate 15
Jehan Barbet de Lyon (active
1475-1514). "Angelot du Lude,"
1475, bronze, height 45W. From
the Georges Hoentschel Collec-
tion, Paris. Acquired by J. Pier-
pont Morgan, 1906. Present col-
lection: The Frick Collection,
New York.
W?
Plate 16
Antoine Coysevox (1640-1720). "Louis of France, the Grand Dauphin," marble,
height 3lVw". From the Wallace-Bagatelle Collection, Paris. Acquired by the
Samuel H. Kress Foundation, 1951. Present collection: National Gallery of Art,
Washington, D.C., Samuel H. Kress Collection, loan.
Plate 17 a
Part of the Wallace-Bagatelle Collection at Rue Laffitte.
(Photograph courtesy of the Wallace Collection, London.)
Plate 17b
The garden facade of the Palais de Sagan
^90 In
30
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is .
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■^mr^f"-'-"^'Wr-\ - • - ■ ' '■■"' P7
: .-.- ...... .-.-7. — -j- - , --...
,- ' MJ|
J 'IT — !OT35GBWfl¥5®ir7il rT:.' ' TCTiniWnWEHB
French^. 1785-1790. Desk of King Louis XVI, 52" x 62%" x 29". From the Wallace-Bagatelle
Section Paris. Present collection : The Metropolitan Museum of Art. Gift of >c ^-Sefa™**,
1919: "In memory of Mr. J. P.f Morgan and as a souvenir of the help which the Americans have
given in France during the war."
Plate 20
Edme Bouchardon (1698-1762). "L'Amour taillant son arc," 1744, marble, height 29".
From the Wallace-Bagatelle Collection, Paris. Acquired by Lord Wimborne, London,
1914, by Mortimer L. Schiff, New York, 1923, and by the Samuel H. Kress Foundation,
1950. Present collection: National Gallery of Art, Washington, D.C., Samuel H. Kress
Collection.
Plate 21a, b
Jean-Antoine Houdon (1741-1826).
"Louise and Alexandre Brongniard," mar-
ble, height 15". Acquired by Joseph
Widener, Philadelphia, c. 1911. Present
collection: National Gallery of Art,
Washington, D.C., Widener Collection.
Plate 22a
Nicolas Lancret (1690-1743). "The End of the Hunt," 23%" x 53". One of four over-
doors from the chateau of Marly-le-Roi. From the Wallace-Bagatelle Collection, Paris.
Acquired by M. Knoedler and Co., New York, 1914. Present collection: The M. H.
de Young Memorial Museum, San Francisco.
Plate 22b
Francois Boucher (1703-1770). "Cupid and the Graces," 1738, 55W'x7VA". From
the Wallace-Bagatelle Collection, Paris. Acquired by M. Knoedler and Co., New York,
1914. Present collection: National Gallery of Art, Washington, D.C., Gulbenkian Col-
lection, loan.
Plate 23a
Jean-Baptiste Pater (1695-1736).
"Le Concert Champetre," 26" x
32)4". From the William Tilden
Blodgett Collection, New York.
Acquired by private collection,
Paris, 1926.
Plate 23b
Francois Boucher (1703-1770). "The Birth and Triumph of Venus,"
6' 836" x 6' 6". From the Wallace-Bagatelle Collection, Paris. Acquired
by Baron Eugene de Rothschild, Vienna, 1914; repurchased jointly with
Paul Cailleux, Paris. Present collection: The Metropolitan Museum of Art.
Munsey Bequest and Gift of Henry Walters and Germain Seligman, 1928.
Plate 24
Jean-Antoine Houdon (1741-1826). "Sophie Arnould as Iphigenie," 1775, marble, height 26".
From the Wallace-Bagatelle Collection, Paris. Acquired by Edgar Stern, Paris, 1914. Present col-
lection: The Louvre. Bequest of Edgar Stern.
Plate 26
Master of the Virgin among Virgins (active 1460/70-1495). "The Adoration of the
Magi," 24%" x 18%". Present collection: The Kaiser Friedrich Museum, Berlin. Gift of
Jacques Seligmann, 1910.
Plate 27
Jacopo della Quercia (c. 1374-1438). "Madonna of Humility," marble, 23" x 19%".
Acquired by Henry Goldman, New York, 1920. Present collection: National Gallery of
Art, Washington, D.C., Samuel H. Kress Collection.
7s»>,
Plate 28
French, 16th century. "Saint Barbara," marble, height 47%". Ac-
quired by A. J. Kobler, New York, 1924. Present collection: Na-
tional Gallery of Art, Washington, D.C., Samuel H. Kress Collection.
French (Beauvais), 17th century. "Amphitrite," one of four tapestries after cartoons
by Berain, 13' 10" x 9' 10". Commissioned for the Comte de Toulouse, son or Louis Ai v.
From the collection of Baron de Hirsch, Paris. Acquired by Francois Coty, Pans, c. 19Z1.
Present collection: Banque de France, Paris.
Plate 30a
Master of the Saint Barbara Legend (active late 15th century). "Scene from the Life of Saint Bar-
bara," center panel of the triptych, c. 1475, 28%" x 49". Acquired by Musees Royaux, Brussels,
1939.
Plate 30b
Cima da Conegliano (c. 1459-1517/18). "Madonna and Child with Saint Jerome and Saint John
the Baptist," 41%"x57%". Acquired by Lord d'Abernon, 1922. Present collection: National Gal-
lery of Art, Washington, D.C., Mellon Collection.
Plate 31
Rembrandt van Rijn (1606-1669). "Portrait of Joris de Caullery," 1632, 40%" x 33".
Acquired by George Rasmussen, Chicago, 1924. Present collection: M. H. de Young
Memorial Museum (Oakes Collection), San Francisco.
Plate 32
Hubert Robert (1733-1808). "Imaginary View of Rome," 63"x41%". From the collection of
Princess Paley, St. Petersburg. Acquired by private collection, New York, 1931.
Jacques Seligmann and the Rue des Mathurins
ways kept in his own hands, even after the firm became too large to
be a one-man business, as it quickly did. Within a few years he sent
for his older brother, Simon, and his younger brother, Arnold. Simon
looked after the books and the accounting, while Arnold's charm and
affability made him an excellent salesman. Even when I came into
the business as a partner years later, although my father had seen to
it that I had every bit of training and experience he could command,
he was likely to look upon my buying efforts with a somewhat jaun-
diced eye.
Jacques Seligmann had a prodigious capacity for work and a vast
zest for life; the years at the rue des Mathurins must have taxed him
to the full. He was an early riser by nature and upbringing; he was
up at six or six-thirty, and so were his children. Even in his later years
his work day averaged fifteen or sixteen hours. Somehow, in his youth
he found time not only to build a business but to taste the delights
of bohemian Paris. The Montmartre of Toulouse-Lautrec was at its
zenith, and he spent gay evenings at the Moulin de la Galette and the
Moulin Rouge. His tall, slim figure, the small Van Dyke beard (later
replaced by a mustache ) , and a monocle, which he affected at this
period, must have blended well with the atmosphere. I do not know
whether he actually knew Toulouse-Lautrec, but he talked know-
ingly of the music-hall characters the artist immortalized.
To recreate the personality and history of my father is difficult.
Often, in my imagination I have sought to retrace Jacques Selig-
mann's steps toward the fabulous career which made him a titan
among the international art dealers who helped a whole generation
amass great art collections. I believe his character portended his suc-
cess. He was a dynamic man, radiating power, assurance, and opti-
mism, without arrogance or pomposity. He was swift to make deci-
sions and reach conclusions, not haphazardly, but because his lively
intelligence allowed him to gauge soundly after brief consideration.
Direct, straight and quick, he had little patience with the devious.
He was always particular about his appearance; his hair was kept
short, and his rigorously simple clothes were carefully pressed. He
never wore a jewel, not even a ring; his watch was strictly utilitarian,
its thin chain hardly visible. There was a certain austerity in his inner
nature, and these small details of dress were its outward manifesta-
tion. He held himself erect and unstooped in his last years, just as he
had in his youth.
MERCHANTS OF ART
Adventurous as he was in business enterprise, he was steady and
conservative in his private life, although a true bon vivant in his
enjoyment of a fine meal, vintage wine, good company, and laughter.
Few matters irritated him as much as loose living, disorder, or lacka-
daisical manners. His life was governed by definite rules, and he was
a disciplinarian as demanding of himself as of others. Respect and
duty toward one's parents and responsibility for the education of
one's children were paramount among his precepts. He was genuinely
generous, often anonymously. Sure of himself and his conscience, he
approached the world without fear. The socially and financially im-
portant never awed him. "They have to take me as I am with all my
defects," he often said.
By 1900 Jacques Seligmann's family as well as his business had out-
grown the rue des Mathurins. That year the family — there were now
five children — moved to a more spacious and fashionably located
apartment on the avenue Kleber, between the Place de l'Etoile and
the Place du Trocadero, and the business was moved to the Place
Vendome.
The distance by foot from the rue des Mathurins to the Place Ven-
dome is not great; it can be walked in about fifteen minutes. The
distance in prestige is enormous. The rue des Mathurins was, and
still is, a street of small shops; the Place Vendome is the epitome of
elegance. The rue des Mathurins is mediocrity; the Place Vendome
is success. I shall never know the story of the twenty years it took my
father to travel these few blocks; the balance sheets and inventories
destroyed during World War II might have indicated some of the
hardships and successes of a growing business. That he could move
his family to avenue Kleber, provide us with an ever-ascending stand-
ard of living, and at the same time accumulate sufficient capital and
a large enough clientele to justify the business address of the Place
Vendome has to speak for itself.
Though I was seven years old at the time of the move, I have no
recollection of that first small, obscure shop on the rue des Mathurins
nor of the apartment above it where I was born. In fact, it was only
when I was almost grown, and for some reason needed a birth certif-
icate, that I discovered that my birthplace was in the 8th arrondisse-
ment, not in the more fashionable 16th of the apartment on the ave-
nue Kleber. That my father was the proprietor of a great art gallery
8
Jacques Seligmann and the Rue des Mathurins
on the Place Vendome, arbiter of all within it, seemed only right and
natural to me at that age; in my short remembrance it had always
been that way. That it had not always been so for Jacques Seligmann
never occurred to me.
As a child, I used to go to the galleries occasionally after school or
on a free day to wait for my father. It amused me more to gaze down
from the tall shuttered windows upon the busy traffic or to admire
Napoleon on his tall bronze column than it did to examine the con-
tents of the great velvet hung rooms. They were dim and a little awe-
some when there were no clients about to justify the lighting of the
big crystal chandeliers. The furniture, delicate with marquetry and
ormolu or heavy with carving, was the sort little boys were not al-
lowed to sit upon, and the tempting small bright enamels and jewels
were safely out of the reach of small fingers. The sculpture rooms
beyond were a little eerie with their solemn company of stone saints
and marble kings.
Nevertheless, it was a great treat to be allowed to go to "Papa's
Galerie." If Monsieur Jacques were not busy with clients, I would be
sent wherever he might be, in the courtyard supervising the unpack-
ing of a new shipment or on one of the four floors directing the ar-
rangement of a display case. I cannot remember today which sculp-
ture my father turned to catch the light just so, or which Sevres bowl
he stroked with his long slender fingers to feel its quality. Still, I am
puzzled occasionally by the strange familiarity of objects which to
my knowledge I have never seen before. When I first visited the
Metropolitan Museum in 1914 and saw four tiny and altogether de-
lightful white enamel and gold angels in the Morgan Collection, I
sensed at once that I knew them. My father claimed I could not
possibly have remembered, as I was much too young when he had
sold them. Perhaps they were in one of those cases; they are exactly
the sort of exquisite toylike bibelot which a child would covet.
My most precise memory of those early visits to the Seligmann gal-
leries is of a more mundane nature. My father and my Uncle Arnold
were both connoisseurs of food and wine, and the luncheons they
gave at Place Vendome for friends and clients were celebrated, as
were the abilities of the Austro-Hungarian cook who prepared them.
She had a marvelous hand for pastries, and I can still savor the choice
bits which she always reserved for my four o'clock goiiter.
9
CHAPTER II
A Collector's Paradise:
Paris Before 1914
T
~^he year 1900 was auspicious for expansion. There were
still comparatively few art firms with large financial re-
sources and a growing inventory of exceptional works of art. The
number of collectors was increasing, and they came from all over
Europe, for Paris in those days was truly a paradise for collectors.
If London competed for control of the art market, it was neverthe-
less in Paris that the greatest activity was to be found, and to the
student, the scholar, and the collector France was supreme. The col-
lections of the Louvre were unrivaled, and there were the lesser mu-
seums to draw the specialists — Cluny for the medievalist, the Guimet
for the Orientalist, Carnavalet for the historian — and Paris itself for
everybody. Versailles spread her splendor at the city gates; Foun-
tainebleau, where the Renaissance and the 18th century were so hap-
pily blended, Compiegne, St. Germain, and Chantilly beckoned then,
as they do now.
The Grand Dukes of Russia paused in Paris on their annual flight
to the Riviera, trailed by the whole noble order: the Stroganoffs,
Prince Galitzine, the Paleys, the Cheremeteffs, the Yousupoffs, and
Count Pourtales, the German Ambassador to St. Petersburg. From
Vienna came the Bendas, the Auspitzes, the Liechtensteins, and the
Reitzes. The Bulgarian czar made an occasional visit; nonetheless
welcome because he was more interested in selling than in buying,
for he had inherited some exceptional 18th century objects.
Among the Berliners were the Mendelssohns, Mrs. Hermine Feist,
already famed for her porcelain collection, James and Edouard
10
A Collectors Paradise: Paris Before 1914
Simon, Walter von Pannwitz, Oscar Huldschinski, and the Prince
von Reuss. England contributed such discriminating collectors as
Lord d'Abernon, Walter Burns, Sir Philip Sassoon, and Lord Wim-
borne. From Brussels came the Adolphe Stoclets, who were just
beginning the collection that was to make them world known. These
were only a few of the willing and eager collectors, all discriminating
amateurs in works of art, which Paris was doing her best to supply.
The move to the Place Vendome was a logical one for a business
with an international clientele. Here were the best hotels, the finest
jewelers, the smartest couturiers. In the spacious, high-ceilinged
rooms of the new quarters clients could be received in the manner
to which they were, or would like to be, accustomed, and the works
of art could be displayed to their best advantage. It was a convenient
location, too, for the equally important and more permanent Parisian
clients, who could easily drop in en route to their homes from the
financial district or between a fitting and tea at the Ritz.
Those were the days when international exchange, particularly in
works of art, encountered few obstacles. The gold standard prevailed
almost everywhere. The solidity of the Banque de France and the
Bank of England was soundly based on a universal demand for the
louis d'or and the gold sovereign, then worth respectively twenty
francs and twenty shillings or five dollars. Fluctuations of one or two
points were events of magnitude which automatically created a re-
verse flow of gold to re-establish the balance. It was quite simple to
buy in Germany and, via Paris, sell in England, or vice versa. There
were few restrictions on the movement of works of art; Italy and
Spain were the only countries which taxed, or sometimes forbade,
their export; the United States was the only country which levied
duty on their import. It was customary to make transactions in gold
or in bank notes, not for fiscal reasons, as there were no income or
transaction taxes to tempt the evader, but because it was simpler
than writing a check, still a comparatively new procedure in Europe
and somewhat suspect. Cash payments were so customary that cer-
tain contracts, leases for instance, provided that payment should be
made en especes sonnantes et trebuchantes, that is, money which
had weight and which jingled.
In retrospect, it seems hardly credible that barely fifty years ago
there was such faith in the louis d'or and the English gold pound,
and such lack of it in the United States dollar, that European business-
11
MERCHANTS OF ART
men often hesitated to accept American currency. When Mrs. George
Widener bought a set of magnificent 18th century tapestries after car-
toons by Boucher from the Wallace-Bagatelle Collection, such a large
sum was involved that arrangements were made for staggered pay-
ments. Mrs. Widener, of course, was thinking in terms of United
States dollars. My father insisted upon payment in gold francs, and I
believe he prevailed. This faith in his country's currency was shared
by most businessmen, who could not know the reversal of positions
which World War I was so shortly to bring about.
Many of the earlier Paris clients of my father I never knew; some
I knew briefly in their declining years; others I felt I knew because of
objects which passed through the firm's hands and because my father
talked of them. Edouard Andre, for instance, who founded that most
interesting and too little known Paris museum, the Jacquemart-
Andre, died in 1894. He and his charming wife, Nelie Jacquemart,
the painter, traveled about Europe assembling a collection of wide
diversity and eclecticism. Upon the death of Madame Andre in 1912,
the house which they built on the boulevard Haussmann, with its col-
lections, as well as the Chateau de Chaalis near Ermenonville, were
willed to the Institut de France. The installation of the Jacquemart-
Andre, for which Madame Andre is said to have been responsible,
is the first instance of the so-called modern conception of using fur-
niture and decorative objects to create a period background for paint-
ings and sculpture.
Well before my time also were the strange and retiring bachelor
brothers Dutuit, Eugene and Auguste, of Rouen. Heirs of a consid-
erable fortune — Auguste is said to have inherited seventeen million
francs when his brother Eugene died in 1886 — they lived a frugal
and cloistered life, animated only by their passion for collecting.
Upon Eugene's death in 1902, the entire collection was inherited by
the Museum of the City of Paris, the Petit Palais. Its size and quality
were astonishing: superb drawings; more than twelve thousand
prints, including an almost perfect series of four hundred Rembrandt
etchings; a library full of rare books and manuscripts; Dutch little
master paintings; and rare classical, medieval, and Renaissance objets
d'art.
Chalendon and Aynard of Lyon, Baron Selliere, Victor Gay, Piot of
Paris, all were collectors whose names are familiar to art historians,
12
A Collectors Paradise: Paris Before 1914
and the catalogues of their collections are important in any good art
library. All of them my father knew.
What were the works of art all of them were seeking? Obviously
they did not all share the same tastes, but I believe I am right in stat-
ing that fine sculpture was in that day among the most sought after
and the most valuable. Stone sculptures of the Romanesque and
Gothic periods, when they could be found, or marbles of the Italian
Renaissance and the French 18th century entranced the discriminat-
ing collector — Gustave Dreyfus, for instance, whose collection is now
scattered among museums of the world; Oscar Huldschinski, who
owned one of Tullio Lombardi's most exquisite profile portraits, now
in a private collection in New York; Baron Jerome Pichon, whose col-
lection included the two lovely marble busts of the Brongniard chil-
dren by Houdon, now among the most beloved exhibits of the Na-
tional Gallery in Washington. These charming Houdon children were
family heirlooms from Baron Pichon's mother, nee Brongniard,
daughter of the famous architect, and herself subject of a famous
portrait by Madame Vigee-Lebrun. Sometime before 1897 the two
busts passed into the hands of Sigismond Bardac and it was from him
that my father acquired them and subsequently sold them to Joseph
Widener.
Baron Pichon was before my time, but I do remember Sigismond
Bardac quite well. Of Russian origin, he was one of three well-known
banker and collector brothers, Sigismond, Noel, and Joseph. Sigis-
mond was the most active collector of the three and remarkably well-
posted about activities in the art world. To be in the know is of con-
siderable importance if one is to be on hand when a collector is in a
mood to buy — more especially when he is in a mood to sell. There was
always news to be gleaned from Bardac, and sometimes there was
the possibility of acquiring some coveted treasure from him. He was
never satiated in his hunt for new possessions and occasionally had
to part with one in order to acquire another.
It was from Bardac that my father acquired a series of remarkably
fine tapestries, known as La Baillee des Roses, which were to consti-
tute his first big sale to the Metropolitan Museum in New York.
Tapestries at this period were probably next to sculpture in desir-
ability and rarity. Most sought were the already scarce 15th century
weavings, the rich gold and silver woven tapestries of the 16th cen-
13
MERCHANTS OF ART
tury, usually from the Lowland ateliers, and the very special Beauvais
and Gobelins of the 18th century, delicate in texture and color, and
designed by Boucher, Fragonard, Casanova, and other leading artists
of the day. One hundred thousand dollars was not an unusual price
for any of these.
Other collectors were captivated by works of the Middle Ages and
the Renaissance — ivories of the 14th century; champleve enamels of
the 12th and 13th, painted ones of the 16th; small Italian bronzes by
Riccio, Sant'agata, Giovanni da Bologna; superb majolicas, the deep
blacks and yellows of Urbino, the rich lusters of Deruta and Gubbio,
the glowing colors of Siena. In the early 1900's these brought prices
which now are reserved for Cezannes and Picassos. It is strange today,
when these precious small objects seem to have been relegated to the
archaeological realm of museums, to remember how they were sought
forty or fifty years ago. When the Frederic Spitzer Collection was
dispersed in 1893, after the death of that perhaps greatest of 19th cen-
tury collectors, it numbered four thousand items, from the antique
to the 18th century, with scarcely a painting among them. Spitzer
had been an art dealer, an Austrian, who came to Paris about 1852
and there made a fortune which enabled him to achieve the dream of
all dealers who love their metier — retirement to collecting for his
own pleasure. At the time of his death his house on the rue Villejust
was popularly known as the Musee Spitzer. The sale, under the direc-
tion of Mannheim and Maitre Chevallier, still ranks among the out-
standing of the century. My father was one of the major buyers, later
channeling a number of Spitzer's treasures into other collections.
Highly prized also in those years were exceptional pieces of French
18th century furniture — suites of chairs tapestried with flowers or
personages, again Gobelins or Beauvais, for a great distinction was
made between these and the weavings of Aubusson, for instance;
small precious tables with or without Sevres plaques; large princely
commodes or console tables inlaid with exotic woods, adorned with
gilt bronzes, or carved, gilded and topped with rare marbles. The
commodes and consoles were especially sought in pairs, and certain
collectors would patiently wait years to find just the right pair to
complete the balance of a room.
Count Moi'se de Camondo, of the well-known banking family, was
a collector who had a particular passion for objects in pairs. The only
period which really interested him was the Louis XVI, and he was not
14
A Collectors Paradise: Paris Before 1914
only a connoisseur but a purist and perfectionist. The house which he
built on the rue de Monceau, modeled after the Petit Trianon of
Versailles, is one of the few perfect houses I have ever seen, a crite-
rion of the Louis XVI style. Architectural symmetry was the ideal
and the house as well as its furnishings must reflect it, thus the partic-
ular interest in furniture, porcelains, and sculptures in pairs. They
lent emphasis to the axes of the halls or the salons and pointed up the
perfection of the building itself. Camondo never allowed his desire
for a coveted pair to blind him to quality or to proportion; he would
wait rather than accept second best. The house is now the Musee
Nissim de Camondo, in memory of his only son killed in World War I,
and is a part of the Musee des Arts Decoratifs.
If Camondo was somewhat dogmatic as a connoisseur, he was
nevertheless delightful as a person. He had a lively sense of humor
and a quick wit, which he liked to pit against my father, himself sel-
dom at a loss for repartee. I remember an encounter they had on the
occasion of the great fete given at the Chateau de Versailles shortly
after World War I to celebrate its reconditioning, made possible by
the generosity of John D. Rockefeller, Jr. The galleries of the Chateau
were open and lighted, the flower gardens were a glory under the
illumination, and the fountains sparkled and splashed in spotlights.
Hundreds of Parisians and foreigners in gay evening attire had come
to witness the splendor. Spying my father and me in the crowd, the
Count, a striking figure in evening dress and the black monocle he
always wore to disguise a sightless eye, walked quickly toward us.
Without preliminary greeting, he put out his hand, and said, "Con-
gratulations, Jacques, I understand you have just bought Versailles I"
Without an instant's hesitation, my father replied, "Thank you,
thank you, mon cher ami, but you know, you've heard only half the
story. What you haven't heard is that I've already sold it!"
If Jacques Seligmann could not sell Versailles, his clients could find
at Place Vendome furniture to grace a palace; some of it actually
had. They could find here also the Savonnerie rugs, sometimes even
the rare "black-backgrounds" of the end of the 17th century, upon
which to rest such precious pieces; the delightful small terra cottas or
marbles by Falconet or Clodion to place on delicate tables; and clocks
of marble or bronze and candelabra by Caffieri, Messionier, or Gou-
thiere to decorate carved mantels. These were especially suitable for
the larger reception rooms of a collector's house. The smaller, more
15
MERCHANTS OF ART
intimate rooms displayed objects which particularly expressed the
personality of the owner. Here were the drawings, more in demand
then than paintings (sketches by Fragonard, for instance, brought
two or three times their prices of today), and an avid collector might
have enough sepias, gouaches, or crayons to line up in two or three
rows. Here also were the precious tiny things, gold snuffboxes and
necessaires, onyx and crystal coupes, each chosen for its quality and
the joy of its sight and feel. The more fragile bits, such as the rare yel-
low and rose Sevres, were usually in small vitrines to protect them
from harm.
Like his clients, Jacques Seligmann loved, understood, and reacted
with as much enthusiasm to a fine boxwood Virgin of the 14th cen-
tury as to a drawing of the 18th century, and thus he did his best to
supply collectors with what they coveted. There were exceptions.
Painting was one field into which he only occasionally ventured, be-
cause paintings interested collectors less then than they do today.
Classical antiquities was another. He had a particular distrust of the
terra-cotta Tanagra figurines for which there was such a vogue, know-
ing how easily fooled one might be. Also, he refused to have anything
to do with the Orient, claiming that he had all he could do to under-
stand and appreciate the art of the Western world, whose heritage
was his own, without trying to become an expert in works of an alien
culture.
Seeking and acquiring works of art to tempt his clients soon be-
came the most important phase of Jacques Seligmann's business. His
problem was increasingly not to sell but to buy. The buying policy of
an art firm is the keystone of its reputation; to purchase wisely re-
quires not only knowledge and discrimination but also courage. The
art dealer must pay in cash when the opportunity presents itself, and
the decision rests entirely on his own quick judgment. The circum-
stances may involve a multitude of factors quite outside the basic one
of aesthetic merit. A change in international politics may have an im-
mediate impact upon the art market; boom, crisis, or slight recession
affect it, and, more subtle and harder to foresee, so does shifting pub-
lic taste. The experienced dealer must evaluate his commitments in
these terms, irrespective of his own enthusiasm for an object.
Rivalry in purchasing is in every way comparable to that in selling.
There are many stories about the lengths to which dealers of that
ruggedly individualistic time went to circumvent a competitor and
16
A Collector s Paradise: Paris Before 1914
beat him to a collector who had indicated a willingness to sell. One
of my favorites is about my father and Leon Helft, a friend and busi-
ness rival of long and honorable standing. Both found themselves one
evening about to board the same train at a Paris railroad station.
Being good friends, they shared a compartment and whiled away the
time at a game of cards. As etiquette demanded, neither asked the
other where he was going, but each was a little suspicious. When the
train arrived at a small city a few hours out of Paris, each reached for
his hat and coat and, since there was only one hotel in the town, they
shared a hack and with amiable good nights went to their respective
rooms. Now, each was certain that the other was after the same goal,
but since it lay in a chateau some distance from the town and the
hour was late, neither was concerned that evening. Early the next
morning, Helft looked out of his door to reconnoiter and saw my fa-
ther's shoes still in the corridor where they had been placed for
pohshing. Concluding that Jacques Seligmann was still in his room,
Helft confidently finished his dressing and leisurely departed for the
chateau. He was greeted there by Jacques Seligmann, his deal com-
pleted. On his feet were a pair of rough country shoes which he had
slipped out to purchase the night before. Helft's son, Jacques, who
recalled this story in his own book of reminiscences, Vive la chine!,
adds that my father then offered Helft participation in his purchases.
This was a part of the tale that my father always omitted in telling it
himself.
Not all of Jacques Seligmann's journeys were as short and as easy.
To Vienna, Rome, Madrid, London, St. Petersburg, and Berlin, again
and again he was on the train, buying, selling, calling on clients and
dealers, visiting museums, attending auctions.
17
CHAPTER III
A Dealer's Paradise:
New York Before 1914
As Paris in 1900 was a paradise for collectors, New York
x\ was about to become a paradise for dealers. To the art
merchants of London or Paris, the American market before the turn
of the century had not been impressive, representing only a few
clients who could be counted upon to come to Europe year after year.
While many of them were lavish in their buying, the total they spent
was still small compared to the European business, and with few ex-
ceptions, American buying was indiscriminate. Nor were American
museums the formidable buying force they are today, most of them
being still in their infancy, their vast endowments far in the future.
Indifference to the American dollar, erratic and unstable in compar-
ison with the louis d'or and the gold pound, also played a role. Thus,
to my father at least, the American market had hardly seemed to war-
rant the expenditure of time necessary for the long ocean voyage; the
results would not have compensated him for the loss of opportunities
at home.
But this was changing rapidly. By 1900 a handful of European
dealers had already established a bridgehead. Michel Knoedler was
one of the first, having come to the United States from France in 1846
as a representative of the engraving firm of Goupil. He had sometime
since expanded to original works of art and reversed the usual pro-
cedure by then opening a Paris house. Durand-Ruel opened its New
York gallery in 1886 and, like Knoedler, handled paintings almost
exclusively. Duveen Brothers, then largely concerned with the dec-
orative arts, had started in Boston, but in 1884, they, too, moved to
18
A Dealers Paradise: New York Before 1914
New York. Wildenstein, then Gimpel & Wildenstein, arrived in 1901
and established a gallery at 28th Street and Fifth Avenue, the vicin-
ity then favored by the art trade.
Jacques Seligmann had had his share of American business in Paris.
He had made substantial contributions to the collection of Benjamin
Altman, particularly in the field of early enamels and Renaissance
gold and silver work, and had acted for Altman in the purchase of a
splendid series of Renaissance crystals in the Spitzer sale of 1893.
There had been at least two sales to J. Pierpont Morgan, in 1901
and 1902, made through Emile Rey, an associate of my father, who
had made several trips to the United States and who maintained a
small office for my father in New York. There is correspondence in
the archives of the Metropolitan Museum dating also from 1902. In
that same year Henry Walters purchased a sizable collection of en-
amels and porcelains, and no doubt the old Paris files would have
revealed other sales to American clients. Even so, compared to the
business he was doing in Europe, Jacques Seligmann's American af-
fairs were not very important. In twenty-five years of business he
had never been to New York, not even to visit his office.
His sudden decision, in 1905, to make the trip, according to a story
which he hugely enjoyed telling, was precipitated by his first face-to-
face encounter with J. Pierpont Morgan. One afternoon an English
collector of porcelains, J. H. Fitzhenry, appeared at Place Ven-
dome accompanied by a large, forbidding-looking American whom
he introduced as Mr. Morgan. Porcelains of all varieties were in
great vogue at that time, with collectors avidly buying Dresden,
Chelsea, and Sevres at prices which seem great even by today's stand-
ards, and it was porcelains that Mr. Morgan sought. After looking
about for a while and consulting with Fitzhenry, Mr. Morgan decided
to purchase an exceptional 18th century German piece. Made in
Hoechst and modeled by Melchior, it was called Sylvie and repre-
sented a reclining nymph about to be surprised by a shepherd boy
approaching from behind a tree.
The porcelain was to be delivered to Morgan's suite at the Hotel
Bristol, then a rival of the Ritz on the Place Vendome. Since Morgan
was about to leave Paris, he also suggested that the check be called
for at the hotel, and my father, curious about this American who was
so well-known in financial circles, decided to go himself. Upon his
19
MERCHANTS OF ART
arrival in the foyer of the suite, he was considerably amazed to see a
large number of his competitors, big and little, some with packages,
seated or standing about the room. After a rather long wait, which
irked my father a bit as he was not used to either calling ior a check
or being kept waiting, he was shown in. He faced a man quite differ-
ent in mood from the one he had seen earlier in the day.
Morgan announced brusquely that, after examining the porcelain
anew, he had decided it was not what he had supposed it to be and
he no longer wanted it. Already irritated by his reception, Jacques
Seligmann now had his pride hurt further. He felt his reputation to
be at stake, although financially the transaction was of no particular
moment. He replied rather stiffly that, of course, he would gladly
take the porcelain group back, but before acceding to this, he must
know whether it was just Mr. Morgan's change of interest or whether
the authenticity of the piece had been challenged.
Now Morgan was irritated. My father recalled that he was com-
pletely red-faced as he pounded the table and roared. Morgan, who
never liked to admit the presence of a third party in his buying, told
my father that the reason for the refusal of the piece was none of his
business. But Jacques Seligmann was also a determined man and he
persisted. He explained calmly, but forcibly, that if Morgan intended
to collect fine objects, he would never succeed if he consulted half a
dozen persons about each purchase. Such a course, he said, would
only result in dealers working together and arranging commissions
with each other.
Such plain talk evidently impressed Morgan, but he would not
change his mind, and the purchase was canceled. However, my fa-
ther's parting words were, "Mr. Morgan, I will see you shortly in New
York and prove to you that you have been misled, but not by me."
Then, realizing how much might be at stake, my father, with his
characteristic energy and determination, tucked Sylvie under his
arm and set out for Germany. He showed it to every porcelain spe-
cialist of any renown and obtained, in writing, confirmation from each
that the piece was not only authentic, but of exceptional merit and
a rare subject. He then set out for New York where he presented the
porcelain to the Metropolitan Museum of which J. Pierpont Morgan
had just been elected president. The charming Sylvie was accepted
with delight by the museum officials, and this being accomplished,
my father called upon J. Pierpont Morgan and told him what he had
20
A Dealers Paradise: New York Before 1914
done. Thus it was that Jacques Seligmann won his most important
American client and became the advisor upon whom Morgan most
relied in his later years.
As my father's relationship with Morgan grew, so, naturally, did
his interest in the Metropolitan Museum, upon which Morgan was
bringing to bear the same energy and dynamism that he displayed
in his own business and collecting activities. It was doubtless at the
behest of Morgan that Edward Robinson, assistant director of the
museum and later its first American director, wrote my father in 1906,
asking if on his next trip to New York he would be willing to give ex-
pert opinion about certain works of art offered the museum as gifts or
loans. This recognition by the infant New World museum pleased
my father tremendously and, a few months later, he presented to it
several works of art, including a 15th century tapestry, a rare Spanish
Alcora plate, and a Gothic window. Since he realized the ever pres-
ent need for funds as well as objects, he added a check for five thou-
sand dollars.
In February of 1907, Jacques Seligmann was elected a Fellow for
Life of the Metropolitan Museum, an honor which he greatly cher-
ished and which he often mentioned with pride.
He had acquired an early appreciation of the educational impor-
tance of public museums. It was this subject he stressed in interviews
with the American press. Only with an active museum could one ex-
pect to interest the citizens of a new community in works of art, he
said, and encourage them to become collectors, collectors who in
turn would aid in the development of the museum, the one acting re-
ciprocally upon the other. He insisted that such an interest should
not be limited to the past centuries of Western art but should also
encourage contemporary artists. He was one of the rare Europeans to
back up this idea with the purchase of paintings by living American
artists. He owned several examples of Mary Cassatt and bought can-
vases by Frieseke, Dana, and Henry Golden Dearth. Whether he
would have made some of these choices in later years is moot, but it
was a concrete expression of his interest.
Through Pierpont Morgan my father made the acquaintance of
William M. Laffan, publisher of the New York Sun, who in 1905 be-
came a member of the Board of Trustees of the Metropolitan Mu-
seum. Laffan, who traveled extensively in Europe, seems to have
been a sort of roving ambassador for the great financier, and ties of
21
MERCHANTS OF ART
friendship were quickly established between him and Jacques Selig-
mann. The friendship, however, must have had its tumultuous as-
pects, for if they generally agreed on the merit of works of art of the
Western world, they were constantly at odds on the subject of Chi-
nese porcelains. My father claimed that few westerners knew
whether they were buying good ones or bad ones, particularly when
it came to monochromes. Since Laffan was considered an expert in
this field — it was he who made the Morgan porcelain catalogue —
their differing points of view frequently led to heated discussion. In
spite of this, however, their strong and direct personalities apparently
held a mutual appeal. Laffan was in some degree responsible, also,
for the firm bonds which existed between my father and Henry
Walters, the great Baltimore collector, for whom Laffan also acted
in an advisory capacity.
It was on the recommendation of Laffan that the Metropolitan
Museum, in 1909, made its first truly important purchase from my
father — the three exquisite Gothic tapestries from the Sigismond
Bardac collection. Popularly known as La Baillee des Roses, and ex-
tremely rare in type, they are among the most peacefully romantic
tapestries of that charming period when the austerity of the early
Gothic was giving way to storybook chivalry. In them, graceful cour-
tiers wander across a background of three wide bands of green, white,
and red, over which trail blooming roses. It is believed that the set
was ordered, in Arras or Tournai, by Charles VII of France ( 1422-
1461 ) and that one of the figures represents the virtuous Agnes Sorel,
La Dame de Beaute, who exercised such a good influence upon this
weak and vacillating king.
The sale of these tapestries unfortunately created a certain friction
between the French museum authorities and my father, which indi-
rectly involved J. P. Morgan as Metropolitan president. The Louvre
had been anxious to acquire these historic tapestries, and for once
had the funds to pay for them. However, they refused to meet Mor-
gan's offer, and my father had no choice except to let them go to
America. According to a press report, just a week later the Louvre
made an offer to Morgan for one of three. Morgan refused to sell.
The period from the turn of the century to 1914 was the golden age
of the American industrial and financial titan. Even if the roster of
great wealth does not necessarily constitute a roster of great collec-
22
A Dealers Paradise: New York Before 1914
tors, it is nevertheless true that a period of great wealth is usually also
a period of great collecting. Upper Fifth Avenue was already strung
with Renaissance palaces and Gothic castles, some complete with
moat, noble edifices attesting to the fortunes of their owners. Every
one of these houses contained works of art and every one of the
owners was a collector — if "collector" be defined as a buyer of rare
and costly non-utilitarian objects for the adornment of his living quar-
ters. In those years, said Frederick Lewis Allen in The Big Change,
"A pattern was forming; the American millionaire wanted to live like
a prince; and since princes were foreign and princely culture was
likewise foreign, he must show his princeliness by living among
foreign furnishings and foreign works of art in as great a variety and
profusion as could be managed."
After all the appropriate and available spaces were filled with
paintings, tapestries, and objets d'art, a few of the wealthy found
themselves inextricably involved in the fascination of collecting and
were gripped by an overpowering desire to own more treasures. There
is no doubt that pride and ego played a role, and for many there was
the satisfaction that such a collection would constitute a memorial.
There is equally no doubt that many had a basic love of the beautiful.
Works of art of great merit have a radiating spirit to which the be-
holder reacts in terms of his individual sensitivity: "As though the ob-
jects themselves," said William Constable in Collectors and Collect-
ing, "cast a spell over their owner, to win his disinterested affection.
"Thus were created the great American collections, their diversity
explained by the personalities of the men who chose them.
There is a great difference between the approaches of collectors
today and those of half a century ago. Now there are a greater number
of individual purchasers of works of art. The average collector is
better educated aesthetically; he has a greater knowledge and under-
standing, and consequently a greater faith in his own purpose. Ob-
viously, there are few today who can afford to be as careless of cost as
were some pre- World War I millionaires, or devote as great a propor-
tion of their fortunes to amass collections as important in size and
aesthetic value. There is also a difference in the manner of purchasing.
The greater self-confidence of today's collector frequently leads him
to avoid the established dealer, in the belief, often mistaken, that he
can secure an object at a better price privately or at auction. The
collector of the first quarter of the century was inclined to be oblivi-
23
MERCHANTS OF ART
cms of price if convinced that a work had intrinsic merit and that it
would add to the prestige of his collection. He preferred to deal with
a leading firm, one whose name would add to the value and impor-
tance of an object in the same way that a title added luster to its
pedigree. Because he himself dealt in large sums and made large
profits, he conceded the dealer the same privilege. Moreover, he had
powerful competition from fellow collectors, and quick decisions
were prompted by the danger of losing a coveted piece should he
waver or bargain too long.
Such was the climate, at once simple and complex, surrounding the
American collector when Jacques Seligmann decided to enter the
New York field. It was typical that he should have gauged it swiftly
and accurately on this first visit and, before his departure, already
determined to leave the small office at 303 Fifth Avenue in favor of
more impressive quarters. It is doubtful that Jacques Seligmann
could have achieved the success he did had he remained in his early
Paris quarters on the rue des Mathurins or kept only an office in New
York. Men of wealth and power preferred to deal with a man whose
importance in his own field was comparable to theirs. An understand-
ing of this American psychology, one still foreign to the European
mind in those early years of the century, led my father to acquire an
appropriately large and handsome house at 7 West 36th Street, then
about as far uptown as business dared go. I never saw this place, but I
understand that, as at Place Vendome, the setting was worthy of the
works of art and of the clientele which came there.
From 1905 on, Jacques Seligmann spent several weeks each year in
New York. In preparation for his periodic visits he would make a
selection from the Paris inventory — frequently including objects
about which he had already written to a prospective buyer — crate
them, and ship them off ahead. Upon his arrival in New York, her-
alded in the press as some star of stage or screen might be today, he
would write more letters, make half a dozen phone calls, and sit back
to await developments.
Protocol was a major problem; visits were arranged to avoid con-
flicts, for certain clients could not be allowed to meet. My father had
to prevent, if possible, any suspicion that he had first shown a work
of art to someone else and that the present client was seeing the left-
overs. Thomas Fortune Ryan and Mrs. Collis P. Huntington were
both interested in Italian bronzes, for instance; J. P. Morgan and
24
A Dealers Paradise: New York Before 1914
Mortimer Schiff were equally avid for fine Gubbio plates, and Schiff
also shared Henry Walters' love for 18th century French objects.
Another tapestry fancier might be upset if he found that Otto H.
Kahn had acquired a magnificent gold-woven tapestry before he,
himself, had had a chance to see it.
When these problems had been solved satisfactorily, and the ob-
jects gathered from the four corners of Europe had been dispersed
across America, Jacques Seligmann would sail back to Paris to start a
fresh search for more. I was twelve at the time of the first New York
trip, and I remember with what excitement we all awaited my father's
return. Naturally he came loaded with gifts for all of us. The most
fascinating to our French eyes were the tins of fruits and other deli-
cacies, still a definitely suspect innovation in France.
We must often have been on Jacques Seligmann's mind during his
frequent absences. My lovely young mother had died in 1902, and our
care was largely in the hands of governesses and housekeepers. Our
education was extremely important to him, especially mine as the
eldest son, and my apprenticeship in the art world was seriously be-
gun at about that time. From the age of twelve on I never knew a
school holiday or summer vacation in the carefree sense of the word,
for I was regularly sent on trips to study languages and acquaint my-
self with the museums and artistic monuments of Europe. In England
I was usually in the charge of Salomon Herz, my father's English
partner. Trips to Italy and Germany were supervised by tutors. When
I was about fifteen I made a trip to Spain in the company of A. S.
Drey, the well-known art dealer, and his younger son, Francis, who
was about my age. My most vivid memory of that trip did not re-
flect my father's program for my study of the history of art.
One day the three of us were traveling by train, probably in a third-
class carriage, as I remember the wooden seats. Just as we were pull-
ing out of some small village, a tough-looking man, dressed in a sheep-
skin coat, jumped into the carriage, brandished a large knife at us
and dived into hiding under a seat. There he stayed while we and our
fellow travelers, all Spaniards, sat in quaking silence, until the train
reached the next village. There two mustachioed police boarded,
asked whether anyone had seen the fugitive and made a perfunctory
search. We pretended ignorance of the language, the Spanish passen-
gers covered for him, and the officers got off without further ado. As
soon as the train had left the village, our stowaway left by the other
25
MERCHANTS OF ART
side of the car, as silently as he had come. By the time we got home,
of course, this episode had grown into a really dangerous brush with
a Spanish bandit.
Jacques Seligmann was self-trained and it was his belief that no
amount of theory could ever replace the training of the eye. He de-
clared with firmness, particularly when irked, that no book-teaching
could ever convince him of something that he could not see. Later in
his career, when published records were produced to persuade him
of the importance of an item, perhaps "just the type that Mr. Morgan
would like," his answer was always the same. "Show it to me," he
said. "If I am interested I may look at the book, if I'm not, a hundred
books won't convince me." Then he might add with a smile, "Paper
has great patience and will take anything."
This did not prevent him from seeing that I, and later my brother
Andre, had all the formal teaching in the arts that he could cram into
us. While I was still at school, he engaged tutors, specialists in one
field or another, for extracurricular classes, beginning with Egyptian
and classical antiquities. When I left school, after my first baccalau-
reate, it was in order to devote my studies entirely to history, chiefly
the history of art. Some of this work was with private tutors, espe-
cially when I went to stay in another country, but in Paris a great deal
of it was at the Ecole du Louvre, the professional school on a uni-
versity level for the training of art historians and museum curators.
The professors were well-known specialists in their fields, often cura-
tors at the Louvre or one of the provincial museums, and our work
included visits to the collections, accompanied by a member of the
museum staff.
We had the benefit of the knowledge of such men as Carle Dreyfus,
Curator of Decorative Arts and an authority on the French 18th cen-
tury, and Marquet de Vasselot, head of the medieval section at both
the Louvre and Cluny.
I came to know Carle Dreyfus in a more personal way than as an
occasional teacher through his nephew, Robert Aboucaya, who was
killed leading his platoon in the first weeeks of World War I and was a
companion of my military service. We were privates together, often
assigned to the same not-always-pleasant duties, went through officer
training school together, and received our second lieutenancies at the
same time. We usually tried to arrange our Paris leaves together,
26
A Dealer's Paradise: New York Before 1914
and on one of these occasions Robert took me to call on his grand-
father, Gustave Dreyfus, owner of some of the most magnificent
Renaissance sculptures in the annals of collecting. Gustave Dreyfus
showed us around, correcting some of my assumptions, adding his
own comments, full of patience for a beginner already entranced
with the beauty of marble sculpture, an enchantment which has
never left me. Many years later one of my greatest frustrations was
my inability to acquire the Dreyfus collection when it was sold.
One of the advantages that acquaintance with the curatorial staff
of the Louvre afforded was the rare privilege of occasionally being
allowed to handle the objects themselves. Some works of art speak
even more eloquently through the tactile sense. I remember with
delight the personally conducted tour Carle Dreyfus gave me of the
Isaac de Camondo collection of 18th century objets d'art while it was
still being installed after its bequest to the Louvre in 1911. Even more
exciting was a visit to the Medieval Department, where Marquet de
Vasselot put into my hands some of the precious enamels in which
the Louvre is so rich — the cloisonnes, the champleves, the translu-
cents, all veritable jewels of the enameler's art. Enamels, like sculp-
tures, have always held an especial attraction for me.
Through Marquet de Vasselot I was also admitted to one of the
great private collections of Paris, that of his father-in-law, Martin
LeRoy. I have always suspected that Marquet de Vasselot was the
inspiration for his wealthy father-in-law's collecting, as it closely fol-
lowed his own tastes and interests — rare early Gothic tapestries,
primitive paintings, early enamels, and exquisite ivories.
I particularly remember a class in Italian painting at the Louvre,
where the professor had been stressing the brilliance of the Venetian
palette. As he stood before the monumental The Marriage at Carta
by Paolo Veronese, he called our attention to the clear yellows, the
warm reds, the wonderful greens, and the deep blues. As I stood and
gazed at the painting, I began to wonder if there was something
seriously wrong with my sense of color. With the best will in the
world, I could see nothing but varying shades of dull yellow and
duller reds and blues. My puzzlement grew as we went from painting
to painting, but I hesitated to question my professor in front of my
fellow students. After class, he assured me that the color was really
there; I would just have to take it on faith, as it was obscured by the
many layers of dirty varnish which had accumulated over the years.
27
MERCHANTS OF ART
I have had to take it on faith until only a few years ago, when at last
cleaning revealed this great masterpiece in all its glory of riotous
color. Nor did I ever really see the superb late Titian Ecce Homo of
the Louvre until it was restored to its original beauty for the great
Titian exhibition at the Venice Biennale of 1935. In my student days,
the cleaning and restoring of paintings was not the precise science it
is today. Most museum authorities viewed it with distrust, and
"museum brown" was still the order of the day.
In addition to my formal studies I now had to attend all the im-
portant auctions and exhibitions, duly reporting on them to my father
if he could not go with me. Sunday afternoon was usually devoted to
this pastime, as the Hotel Drouot was open on Sunday then, and if
my father was along, we played a sort of eye-training game. This con-
sisted in standing in the doorway or the middle of the exhibition room
and attempting to pick out at once the objects whose quality sang
out, those which brought an immediate reaction and stood out from
the multitude. This was, of course, without benefit of catalogue or
label; attributions change, but quality does not. This kind of first
analysis is particularly valuable to a dealer. In appraising a collection
to be bought or sold, the value of the best items must approximate the
expected total value of the entire collection; otherwise, the proposi-
tion is not sound. A dependable estimate is not reached by adding up
a hundred small items. Years of training in these quick studies make
it relatively easy to sift the masterpieces from the lesser items which
even a great collection contains.
As I grew older, my father liked, when it was possible, to take me
with him on business trips. In order to make me more useful as a
traveling companion, he conceived the notion of having me study
shorthand, which would have eliminated the secretary who usually
accompanied him. I must admit that this was a skill in which I never
became proficient, and he soon gave that up. The international char-
acter of the business meant an appalling amount of correspondence,
which my father, an inveterate letter writer, enjoyed. No one who
interested him was allowed to forget him. He kept three secretaries
busy, often dictating in his automobile, cabling to San Francisco for
someone's birthday, writing to Edinburgh with congratulations on a
wedding or to Vienna simply to see how a friend fared. In French,
English, German, Italian, the mail poured in and out. One of my
duties was to read the letters and ask questions about things which
28
A Dealers Paradise: New York Before 1914
puzzled me. Another was a weekly visit with the firm's bookkeeper
or its attorney, gradually to acquaint myself with the firm's general
business procedure.
The rugged schedule my father arranged for me instilled a disci-
pline which has aided me through many difficult periods of my life.
Fortunately, I was studious by nature and was particularly fond of
history, so research was never a bore to me, though the office routine
was sometimes tedious to a boy of sixteen.
My father was a stern disciplinarian who believed that children
should be educated to meet any vicissitudes that life might bring,
but he was also generous, even indulgent. I had my own horse and
could ride every morning, provided I was willing to get up early
enough so that it did not interfere with more serious pursuits, for at
eight-thirty I had to be at the office. I was given a Renault for my
personal use as soon as I was of age to drive it, something quite rare
for a youngster in those days. My father had acquired an electric car
for himself at a time when other people were still looking askance at
automobiles. He simply wanted to move about Paris faster. He never
traded his cars until they were past use, no matter how old-fashioned
they became. It was characteristic, too, that though he was willing to
give me a car, he would send me off to Germany in a third-class car-
riage lest I be spoiled by too much luxury.
Thursday is the French school holiday, and when there was no
important auction for me to attend, I went with my sisters to the
Comedie Francaise where we heard the classic plays of Moliere,
Racine, or Corneille. My father kept a box at the opera and attended
as regularly as he could, for he was fond of music. I suspect, however,
that he preferred the lighter variety, such as Offenbach's Belle Hel-
ene, of which he knew not only the melodies but the entire libretto.
We might catch him dozing in the far corner of the box during the
heavier Wagner operas.
29
CHAPTER IV
The Palais de Sagan
As the first decade of the century drew to its close, Ameri-
/\ cans nad become, as a group, the most important of my
father's clients. The same reasoning which had prompted him to en-
large and embellish his New York quarters led him to a new and
grandiose gesture in Paris. In 1909, almost overnight and quite un-
known to his family or partners, my father bought the hotel particulier
of the Prince de Sagan. I was then sixteen, and the Palais de Sagan
was to be the scene of my own real entry into the business of being an
art dealer.
The Palais de Sagan is one of the most sumptuous old houses in
Paris. Ideally located on the rue St. Dominique just off the esplanade
des Invalides, near the Chambre des Deputes and the Quai d'Orsay,
it is an easy walk to the heart of the city. From the rue St. Dominique
one sees only the monumental gateway and the tree-lined avenue
which leads between the flanking houses. Once inside, the avenue
opens into a great cour-d'honneur formed by the classically simple
two-story facade of the house and its two lower wings. The terrace in
the rear faces upon a garden a la francaise which once extended for
several blocks but now reaches only to the next street, the rue de
Talleyrand. The rooms are vast and high-ceilinged, and the magnifi-
cent marble stairway is one of the most impressively beautiful in all
Paris.
The house was originally built for the Princesse de Monaco in 1784
by Alexandre-Theodore Brongniard, the builder of the Paris Bourse.
When the princess fled the Revolution, Sagan with all its furnishings
was confiscated and became for a time the Ottoman Embassy. Later,
Napoleon presented it to the Count de Sieyes, who sold it to the
30
The Palais de Sagan
Marechal Davout, Prince of Eckmuhl. In 1838 Davout's widow in
turn sold the propery to William Hope, a Dutch banker, and from
him it passed to Baron Seilliere, friend and banker of Napoleon III.
In 1873 it was inherited by the Princesse de Sagan, the Baron's daugh-
ter. During the latter two ownerships, the Palais de Sagan was the
brilliant setting for parties and dinners attended by Europe's highest
society, including the royalty of many nations. In its heyday the
house was adorned with beautiful paintings and fine works of art.
But after the Princess died, the Prince de Sagan, in failing health and
a recluse, occupied only two of the smallest rooms of the huge palace.
The gossips of the time said that the Prince and Princess had a
rather acrimonious relationship during the last years of her life, and
that he always spoke of her as la vache. One day, according to a story,
when it was necessary for both of them to be present at a reception,
she tethered several cows on the lawn and placed him, already some-
what incapacitated, in a chair overlooking the terrace so that he
would appear to be commenting upon the scene rather than upon her.
However, the old gentleman was not quite so hazy as supposed. As
she passed near him, he was heard to mutter quite distinctly, "Cha-
meau," which has an earthier meaning in French argot than its literal
translation of "camel."
However that may be, the house was dismal and oppressive when
I first saw it, a few days after my father bought it. Some of the ceilings
had been redecorated and overgilded during the tenancy of William
Hope, whose taste was notoriously bad; a contemporary diary of the
Marechal de Castellane describes an earlier house of Hope's as being
hung with silk and "enough gold lace to furnish all the generals of
the army." My father's lively imagination had correctly visualized
Sagan's possibilities, however, and within a few months the floors
had been covered with blue and gold Savonnerie rugs, the crystal
chandeliers had been hung, and the overloaded ceilings and walls
had been partly hidden by neutral draperies. The open field where
the Princess was said to have tethered her cows was now a garden
with close-clipped grass, pebbled paths, and a fountain; Sagan was
again smiling and welcoming, restored to something of its former
grandeur. Even though Sagan offered many times the floor space of
the galleries in the Place Vendome, my father added, for special exhi-
bitions, another building, in the same classical 18th century style, at
the side of the garden with an entrance on the rue de Talleyrand.
31
MERCHANTS OF ART
None of us ever lived at Sagan. At the time of its purchase my father
also acquired an adjoining property on the rue de Constantine, over-
looking the esplanade des Invalides, which then became the family
home. The family had continued to grow. My father had remarried a
few years earlier, and the children now numbered six.
How, then, was the firm to function with a great establishment of
four floors at Place Vendome ( there was no thought of abandoning
that strategic location) and an even greater one at the Palais de
Sagan? The bulk of the works of art remained at Place Vendome, pre-
sided over by my Uncle Arnold, and here the average clients and the
passers-by were received. The important clients, the particular ones,
those whose fancy could only be captured by the exceptional, and
thus the most expensive, were taken to Sagan. Here they were shown
through perhaps seven or eight great rooms to see seven or eight great
masterpieces — a painting, a sculpture, a tapestry, or a precious small
objet d'art. If none attracted a client's fancy, he was then invited to
seat himself comfortably in yet another room and a new group of
items was brought to him, again one at a time. So rich was Sagan's
display that a contemporary American newspaper correspondent de-
scribed it glowingly as "rivaling some of the world's museums."
My father's headquarters, naturally, were at Sagan and it was here
that I began my real initiation into the art business. Heretofore it had
been largely study and theory. Now I was to learn how the art busi-
ness really worked and, particularly, I was to learn something of
people.
One of my father's training devices was to have me audit the visit
of an important client, my role being to take the place of one of his
regular office boys, hand him whatever items he wanted, and make
myself unobtrusively useful. It was on such an occasion that I had
one of my few opportunities to see J. Pierpont Morgan in action as
art collector.
It was in the spring of 1911 in a large room on the west end of the
ground floor of Sagan; tall windows opened onto the terrace. The
room had been kept simple, with no decoration or works of art; beige
velvet hung from ceiling to floor, a height of eighteen to twenty feet.
In one corner, hidden by the velvet, was a huge safe. Around a center
table, covered with the same material, were a few deep brown leather
chairs. On the table my father had placed a stack of large reference
32
The Palais de Sagan
books, which were hardly ever consulted, a few pads of white paper,
and some pencils.
Morgan had already been shown into the room when I arrived, and
from that moment until his leave-taking, I felt dwarfed. The physical
proportion between him and me seemed to be three to one; it was
not only his actual height and bulk, but his piercing, flashing eyes, his
strong, set face, and, above all, his tremendous, radiating vitality.
To me he was awe-inspiring. My father, who, of course, knew
Morgan well by this time, showed no timidity or undue awareness of
the importance of his client. This was Jacques Seligmann's field; not
only was he perfectly at ease, but in the course of the visit he gener-
ated his own brand of dynamism — arguing, retorting, and lecturing
the great financier, who seemed not only not to mind but rather to
expect it. Thinking it over in later years, I came to the conclusion
that Morgan probably would have considered it a weakness and lack
of certainty about the quality of the treasures offered had my father
not taken such a firm and definite stand.
The first items shown, I gathered, were objects which had already
been purchased for Morgan's account on a predetermined percentage
of commissions or on a definite retainer. For a collector of Morgan's
magnitude, the retainer arrangement had the great advantage of
eliminating the profit motive on individual purchases: whatever the
total figure, the amount received by the art dealer remained the same,
much as an attorney, for instance, may handle a firm's legal affairs
on a fixed fee basis, irrespective of the work or the sums involved.
Even though these purchases had been decided upon, and Morgan
had a keen memory, he had to be convinced again. Possibly he wanted
to hear once more the reasons my father had given originally in sug-
gesting the acquisition. It is also possible that, having so little time
at his disposal for the study of art, Morgan took advantage of these
discussions — my father loved to talk about his "children" and Morgan
knew it — to inform himself further about the aesthetic merits and the
histories of the treasures he was accumulating.
During this warming-up period my father was gradually taking
from the corner safe a second group of treasures. These were pur-
chases he had made for his own account, but had reserved for Morgan
to see first. At the beginning Morgan remained seated while my father
got up from time to time to go to the safe. But after a little, as the
33
MERCHANTS OF ART
discussion grew livelier, both were on their feet, walking up and
down the huge room which suddenly had shrunk to minuscule pro-
portions.
It soon became obvious to me that Morgan was thoroughly enjoy-
ing himself. There was no doubt that his purpose was to draw out
my father, to be convinced once more, by tone of voice and determi-
nation in making a point, of the knowledge and sincerity of his trusted
advisor. Had Morgan not been convinced previously of this, of course,
he would not have come or, once there, not have troubled to sit down;
but it was probably inherent in this man that great transactions must
be accomplished with lightning and thunder — otherwise where is the
fun? Morgan liked to be faced with a strong personality, one ready to
talk back, sure of his ground, and this he got in Jacques Seligmann.
From time to time Morgan would take a scratch pad and make
notes, then my father would do the same, and I quickly learned that
this meant the collector had added another beautiful object to his
mounting aggregate, although no specific words might have been
spoken.
So impressed was I, and breathless, watching these two giants, so
confused by the size of the figures involved that I lost track of reality
when the total amount was reached. Today, knowing the kinds of
objects Morgan collected and their prices, I can say that a half million
dollars might easily have been involved in such a session.
When it was all over, like ocean waves after a stormy wind have
dropped, the tones of the voices lowered, smiles appeared, and Mor-
gan took time to stroke his new possessions, happy, proud, and con-
tent. This was Morgan, the private collector.
Not all of the clients who came to Sagan were Rothschilds and
Morgans. Some bought one coveted item at a time, paying for it as
they could. The first sale I made was to such a collector, a modestly,
almost shabbily, dressed man, who appeared one day at Sagan and
asked to see Italian majolicas. Since my father was busy, I was dele-
gated to show him around and I soon realized that here was a man
of real knowledge. He was particularly fascinated by a dated Urbino
plate of great quality, rich in blacks, and bearing the marking of Fra
Xanto, to which he kept returning with longing eyes. Finally, with
great hesitancy, he asked if he might come in again, just to look at it,
as it was far too expensive for him.
Of course I told him he was welcome at any time, and a week or
34
The Palais de Sagan
so later he did come back, to gaze once more at the plate and regret
his inability to buy it. He told me he was a professor of chemistry at
one of the Paris technical schools and already had a small collection
of majolicas, so I asked if he would allow me to see them. He seemed
delighted at the idea, and when I arrived at his one-room apartment,
I found an entire wall occupied by a glass-covered case full of ex-
quisite Italian faience. Realizing the man's genuine interest and ob-
viously limited means, I suggested to him tactfully that if he really
wanted the plate there was no reason, as far as we were concerned,
why he should not pay for it in installments. He was enchanted, say-
ing he would never have dared to make the suggestion himself, since
he felt that ten thousand francs was not enough money to cause us to
make special arrangements. If I remember correctly, it took him
about a year and a half to settle the account. I am sure he deprived
himself of some basic comforts; his was the attitude of the true col-
lector, rich or poor.
Some came to Sagan to sell rather than to buy, and some came to
"make a deal." Besides the art dealer who maintains a gallery and
owns an inventory of works of art, the art world supports a number
of men and women who orbit about it. First, there is what is known
in the trade as a private dealer, or amateur marchand, who is usually
as much collector as dealer and often sells only because he must in
order to form a new collection or to buy at all. Others are frankly
intermediaries and make no secret of the fact that they earn a com-
mission by acting as a contact between a dealer and a collector who
wishes to buy or sell. Still others are advisors who actually play the
role of middle-man but do not wish to appear to be doing so.
Such middle-men have their role in relation to the art dealer, but
it is not always a positive one; by that I mean that an intermediary
may as easily work against a dealer as for him. It is characteristic of
our business that it is easier to dissuade a collector than it is to per-
suade him. Whether this negative tendency prevails to the same ex-
tent in other selling areas, I do not know, but I can well imagine, for
example, a man who has a quiet interest in an automobile agency
advising a friend who is considering a rival make, "Don't commit
yourself today; why not look around a bit more. There are so many
models with new improvements." For the moment he is not selling
the car for his own interest, but he is preventing a sale by a com-
35
MERCHANTS OF ART
petitor. The very fact that he is trying, outwardly at least, to keep
the eventual client from spending his money is ingratiating, and this
strengthens his position for further advice.
The function of the intermediary is a perfectly legitimate one, in
no way reprehensible, and an accepted practice in any number of
businesses. However, in the huge spending days of the first thirty
years of this century, in the art world it sometimes took an oblique
character. The intermediary of that day, and even sometimes today,
usually did not want it known that he was accepting commissions;
many of them were titled members of the aristocracy or otherwise
socially prominent. They felt, quite correctly in the society of that
day, that acknowledging the source of their incomes would lessen
their prestige and their influence. Thus the wealthy collector, usually
American, but often European, who had been lavishly entertained
by such a man must not be allowed to suspect his host's impartiality.
It was up to the dealer, to whom he would lead his new friend, to
help him protect his secret. In turn, the intermediary could set his
own terms, which were usually high, as were the stakes; this sharing
of profits was often worthwhile.
Initiation into the secrets of this practice was one of the great sur-
prises I received when I first began going to my father's office. I shall
always remember my amazement, even shock, when I saw the name
of a member of the highest nobility signed to a receipt for a very
large commission. It was a blow to my youthful faith in humanity,
an affront to the "vertue" of nobility, the old spirit of chivalry I had
been taught to revere as above petty mercantilism. I had no peace of
mind until I had an opportunity to discuss this matter with my father.
He burst into laughter at the vehemence of my feelings and teased
me unmercifully about the rarefied atmosphere of the imaginary
world in which I was living. He went on to tell me that this same
nobleman had, in fact, telephoned only a few hours earlier to ask for
a large advance to arrange a party at one of the most exclusive clubs,
solely for the purpose of impressing a new collector. Sure enough, the
social columns of Paris newspapers a few days later ecstatically de-
scribed the event as one of the most brilliant of many a season.
One of this noble company of intermediaries, who was by the time
I knew him perfectly open about his need for the means to live in
grandeur, was the Marquis de Castellane. When I first met him he was
36
The Palais de Sagan
still Count Boni, and I was a very young man, much impressed by this
alluring embodiment of the grand seigneur, haloed by the glamor
of his past marriage to Anna Gould, one of the wealthiest American
women of the day. My father had known him when he was still en-
joying this affluence and was building the famous Palais Rose at the
corner of the avenue du Bois and the avenue Malakoff. (To my mind,
this much admired house never acquired the grace one would have
expected time to lend it, perhaps because the insufficient grounds
never allowed one to see it in its proper perspective; it needed the
park and vistas of its inspiration, the Grand Trianon of Versailles.)
There Castellane lived for a while, and since the interior was to be
decorated in the grand manner, it was as a client that my father met
him. Castellane had great faith in Jacques Seligmann's judgment,
and an even greater one in his own. In his book, How I Discovered
America, he says of his collection, "As my wonders accumulated and
as my inborn flair for judging and purchasing developed, I became
obsessed with the idea of forming a kind of art trust before prices
became as high as I knew must inevitably be the case in a few years.
If my scheme had materialized, I should have been one of the richest
men in the world. But my brothers-in-law, who neither knew nor
cared anything about art, were actively hostile towards any trust
which did not touch metals or railways."
A spendthrift in his youth, Castellane remained one to the end.
Few men, even in those days of comparatively easy money, spent as
much as he did on lavish living and entertaining. But where such
extravagances might have seemed ostentatious in another, somehow
they never did with Boni. He was to the manner born; a reincarnation
of his noble ancestors who had played their roles at the court of
France. A paragraph in his book in which he described his "dream
castle" reveals something of this side of him, as well as his wit:
In imagining what Paradise for me would be like, I saw a chateau
perpetually in progress . . . salons where I could walk and reflect,
constandy being decorated by numerous workmen who never finished
— painters, artisans, sculptors working without cease at the new works
which I would inspire.
From the windows, I would see a vast park, a prolongment in nature
of the architecture of my habitation. Its lines would correspond to those
of the building and become its frame, thus giving it an aspect of solidity
37
MERCHANTS OF ART
and logic. Columns, statues, monuments would be there on trial, to be
adopted only if they realized perfect proportions, each object complet-
ing the ensemble.
Then, I would live near a town peopled by antiquarians, among whom
I would find again, Seligmann, Kraemer, Davis, Duveen, those in whose
establishments I had found the greatest satisfactions of my terrestrial
life. Some persons would perhaps rather not find these men there in
Paradise, but I myself have never begrudged them the fortunes which
they made at my expense and I am grateful to them for the joys which
they brought me.
Traits which in another might have been considered arrogant, in
Castellane were tempered by a disarming smile and a charming man-
ner which explained and excused them. It is not difficult to under-
stand the influence he could exert on both men and women, for he
had an incredible feeling for the magnificent. Those who aspired to
live like kings could not ask a better teacher of the art than Boni de
Castellane.
He admits freely in his memoirs his activities as advisor, and his
judgments upon some of the American collectors he knew are inter-
esting, for their insight as well as their bite. Pierpont Morgan, whom
he called a sort of nabob, was "infinitely more of a real art lover than
any of his compatriots and possessed a soul above dollars! He, never-
theless, grasped with the avidity of a furniture mover the beautiful
things which were suggested to him — I sometimes thought him more
of a passionate collector than a true artist." Daniel Guggenheim, Otto
Kahn, Joseph Feder, and George Blumenthal he names as "superior
to the generality of (American) connoisseurs."
I am sure that many who received Castellane's invitations gladly
allowed themselves to be taken, for, after all, it is often not the amount
involved so much as the manner in which it is asked. If in addition,
one was invited to enjoy a social function where the distinction of
the guest list was surpassed only by that of the food and wine, how
could one — why should one — be resentful of so small a price for so
much offered?
The Marquis de Biron was not an intermediary, but an amateur
marchand. He belonged to the oldest French nobility and thus was
related to some of the most celebrated families of Europe, a fact
which gave him entree to collections otherwise inaccessible to the
average collector or dealer. Biron was a realist; long before I actually
38
The Palais de Sagan
met him, I had heard of him as the man who had not hesitated to sell
the tomb of his ancestors. If this was not quite true, it was near
enough; the two magnificent 15th century stone groups which he
sold to J. P. Morgan through my father had stood in the Chapel of the
Chateau de Biron, and two of the kneeling figures in the Pietd do
represent his ancestors, Armand de Gontaut and Pons de Gontaut,
Bishop of Sarlat.
In all but gentleness of birth and love of fine objects, Biron was the
antithesis of Castellane. My earliest recollection of the short, stocky
marquis is one of astonishment at his dress, for he habitually wore at
least three topcoats and a heavy muffler wound about his neck, the
whole topped by a bowler hat. This would lead one to believe him
unusually sensitive to cold, and perhaps he was. If so, discomfort did
not induce him to heat Ins apartment, which was always frigid.
I had known him for several years and seen him often at Sagan
before my father took me to call upon him at his apartment on the
rue d'Aguessau. It was more like a warehouse than a home, with
works of art of all types scattered helter-skelter about the place. I
particularly recall the empty 18th century picture frames which hung
on the walls or were stacked in odd corners. I was too young then,
and not sufficiently attuned to the more subtle nuances of the art
world, to understand the intrinsic quality of these delicately hand-
carved and gilded wood bibelots. It was only later that I realized
with what exceptional taste he had chosen them, and I sigh with envy
today when I recall them. What is more, they would be worth their
weight in gold.
My own conviction about Biron is that he was essentially a col-
lector, one truly infected by the bug, that he simply could not resist
the temptation of a bibelot of quality or of a fine drawing, and that
he had to sell in order to buy. In contrast with Castellane, he lavished
no money on himself or on entertainment: he was a bachelor and his
manner of living was frugal, almost Spartan. There did appear to be
one exception to this, however, an exception which fits well with his
connoisseurship — he had the palate of a gourmet. Many years later,
when we met by chance at one of Bordeaux's famous restaurants, he
asked me to join him at the meal he had chosen, complete with the
choicest wines, and it was a real masterpiece. I believe that he him-
self owned some fine vineyards in the Bordeaux country where the
Biron family seat is located.
39
MERCHANTS OF ART
Biron was the type par excellence of the amateur marchand, who
buys and sells works of art. He had no shop or gallery, with all the
paraphernalia of trade, but could be approached about some fine
thing he had acquired, asked to show it and to name a price. Some-
times Biron would answer that it was not for sale, often because he
genuinely wanted to enjoy it for a while, more often because he felt
that time would enhance its worth. And he was frequently correct.
He liked to build up a collection of drawings by a particular artist,
sometimes taking years to do it, and then to sell them as a group, as
he did with his superb Tiepolos and Guardis, for instance.
Being in touch with a great many private collectors, Biron some-
times sold to them directly, but he worked chiefly with a few leading
firms, selling outright or occasionally buying in joint account with
them, putting up half the cost price and sharing equally in the profits.
He realized that these firms, with their American clientele, could ob-
tain better prices than he, and it was on this basis that he operated
with my father.
Such connections, however, did not prevent him from selling at
auction, as he did in 1914 — a speculative venture in which the title
"Marquis de Biron Collection" played a prominent role. This does
not imply any misrepresentation of the quality of the items, for they
were all chosen with great taste by a connoisseur of the first rank in
his somewhat restricted field of interest, the 18th century.
After World War I, Biron moved to Switzerland, and I never failed
to call upon him in his Geneva apartment whenever I visited that
lovely city. It was here, on one of my last calls before his death, that
he reiterated to me an oft-repeated axiom: "Germain, have but two
worldly possessions — great works of art and gold." The first I have,
the second is less easy to come by and less heart-warming to own.
Alphonse Kann was a different type. He had the elegance and
sybaritic taste of Castellane, but not his arrogance. He was as know-
ing in certain fields as Biron, and as sensitive, but lacked his misan-
thropic nature. His background was that of the Parisian haute-
bourgeoisie — I believe he was related to the collector, Edouard Kann.
When I first met him he was guiding and advising some of the lead-
ing Paris collectors. I assume that he continued to do so up to his last
years, but apparently he realized fairly early that his endowments
and his access to collections could more profitably be used in buying
40
The Palais de Sagan
and selling, directly or otherwise. As an amateur marchand he could
have the pleasure of collecting and the profit of selling.
Thus he gradually invested in works of art until he built up col-
lections known the world over. This was achieved in most skillfully
worked out successive steps, the like of which I have never seen else-
where. He first concentrated on 18th century French furniture, bibe-
lots, pastels, and drawings; while this first collection was decorative
and tasteful, it was comparatively banal. He sold it at the top of the
market. It was after this that his remarkable flair and understanding
began to show itself as he turned to the Romanesque and Gothic. The
sculptures of wood or stone, the early enamels and ivories, the illumi-
nated manuscripts, the drawings, that he ferreted out from unknown
hiding places were of top quality. A number of the treasures in Ameri-
can collections came originally from him, finding their way across
the Atlantic largely through the offices of the leading art firms. The
auction of this phase of his collecting, again at the top of the market,
in New York in 1927, gave only a faint idea of the quality of the works
he had owned. Though some very attractive items were included, it
was actually the liquidation of a glorious past. Kann was already in-
terested in new fields, the Near East, African sculpture, and, above
all, modern paintings.
Within a few years he went through a complete new evolution, as
he progressed from the more conservative Manet and Renoir, to
Bonnard, and finally to the abstract artists. When I last saw him,
shortly before World War II, it was at his exquisite home, a thebaide
at St. Germain, just outside Paris. Here a large room was devoted to
his important library and the walls were covered with modern paint-
ings. Facing me across the luncheon table was his latest acquisition,
a superb abstract Picasso of the great 1910-1912 period. When I
asked him whether he would consider selling it, his answer was, No,
he paid a high price for it, but was certain it would some day be
worth much more. How right the man was.
It took courage to invest his original small capital and then reinvest
it in this fashion, but it also took an astute knowledge of present and
probable trends of the market. Alphonse Kann seemed to have a sixth
sense for gauging the market, and when he concluded that it was
time to switch fields, he did so with an understanding and a feeling
for quality which shunned the mediocre and the so-called bargains.
41
MERCHANTS OF ART
Honest and knowing intermediaries can often be of great service
to both the dealer and the collector, particularly to the novice col-
lector, who might easily be led to purchase dubious works of art or
outright fakes. He can also be of considerable help with the type of
collector who has an exalted opinion of his own knowledge and be-
lieves himself capable of discovering masterpieces outside the usual
channels of trade. How often have I heard a man boast of some fan-
tastic purchase he has made through the good offices of a friend — a
masterpiece hidden away in the home of a family who did not wish
to sell through a dealer, only directly to a collector. It would seem
that the very unlikelihood of such a situation would make a collector
shy away from it, if for no other reason than the astounding coinci-
dence of his appearance on the scene at the exact moment when the
family had decided to sell. It would have been so much simpler for
the owner to make arrangements with any one of a half dozen inter-
national firms, always ready and willing to entertain such a proposi-
tion. Granting that one such exceptional case is credible, it is just not
possible to take seriously the claims of certain collectors that all their
works of art have been accumulated this way. I believe that I can
truthfully say that I, personally, have yet to encounter an unknown
masterpiece in such a collector's house.
It is with this type of conceit that an intermediary may be useful,
not only to the dealer, but equally to the misguided collector about to
squander his money. One day at Sagan I received a visit from an
Italian art historian, a highly cultivated and congenial man who was
happy to supplement a meager income by the usual commission upon
sales he arranged. He asked whether I knew Mr. X, who wanted to
purchase important paintings. I knew Mr. X, but considered him a
hopeless case, since he was the type who refused to do business with
dealers. However, should my friend succeed in bringing Mr. X to
Sagan, I would be delighted, and I proceeded to show the art his-
torian paintings of a kind which I understood his client fancied. Next
day this charming man returned, somewhat crestfallen, to tell me
that I was right; Mr. X flatly refused to go to any dealer, wishing to
purchase only directly from private parties — what could I suggest?
I had no suggestions to make and, after weighing the situation for
a few minutes, my friend asked, "Would it make sense, do you think,
to show him one of your paintings, the beautiful Tiepolo, for instance,
in his hotel room or at my apartment? That is, if you are willing?"
42
The Palais de Sagan
This is a type of operation which I loathe and under ordinary circum-
stances would not entertain. But I was fond of my Italian friend, and
the challenge amused me, so I acquiesced, adding, "Make up a good
story. It will be that as much as the painting that your client will buy!"
Exactly twenty-four hours later, my friend returned, without the
painting, and answered my questioning look by pulling a roll of bank
notes out of his pocket. "I made up an excellent tale," he said, "I told
him, too, that the owner was in immediate need of cash, that it was a
matter of hours, as the painting was on the verge of being sold to a
dealer. That got him!"
Several years later I chanced to be in the home of Mr. X, and he
related to me with almost malicious glee the story of his extraordinary
luck in acquiring this marvelous Tiepolo, which was practically sold
to a dealer when Mr. X appeared just in time to snatch it away. I did
not disillusion him.
This type of know-it-all, suspicious-of-dealers collector is also
largely responsible for the well-known racket of "planting." As the
term implies, this is the practice of placing a given item, even a whole
collection, in appropriate surroundings which purport to be the origi-
nal setting. Entire castles have been furnished in this manner. The
practice need not involve fraud as far as the works of art themselves
are concerned, for they may be of the highest quality. Nevertheless,
it is a spurious enhancing of value by means of a false background,
and it must be confessed that even prominent dealers have them-
selves been taken in by such maneuvers, especially in countries not
their own.
In 1912, three years after the purchase of Sagan, a most unfortunate
family quarrel brought to an end the unique and ideal cooperation
which had existed for more than twenty-five years between Jacques
Seligmann and his brother, Arnold. Simon, the third brother, had
retired some years before. There is no quarrel so bitter as a family one
and, as a sudden tropical storm swiftly uproots trees and smashes
buildings, so was the house of Seligmann shaken to its foundations.
When the lawsuits were over and the droves of arguing attorneys had
departed, there was no longer one firm, but two. Arnold remained at
23 Place Vendome under the firm name of Arnold Seligmann & Cie.,
while Jacques consolidated his activities at Sagan as Jacques Selig-
mann & Cie., later to become Jacques Seligmann et Fils.
43
MERCHANTS OF ART
Thus there came to an end the powerfully single-minded firm, and
there is no doubt that it was to the detriment of both brothers. The
sum total of such a combination is considerably greater than any of its
component parts. The partnership of Jacques and Arnold, whatever
the deficiencies of one or the other, represented a higher potential of
efficiency than either of them could attain as rivals.
It seems strange, I know, to write that I do not really know the
cause of the quarrel, but this is partly explained by my own life at
that time. I had turned eighteen and had decided to volunteer for
military service rather than wait to be drafted at twenty. It was a
move which my father favored, as once finished with my two years
I would be of an age to take my place in the business and could con-
tinue my career without interruption. I was determined to be an
officer and to this end had enrolled in physical training classes espe-
cially designed to fit one to pass the rigid requirements of a candidate.
Thanks to the marks I received there and in my previous schooling,
I was accepted with a rating sufficiently high to permit me to choose
the garrison where I would serve. Thus, although I was variously
stationed in Paris itself or at comparatively nearby Le Havre and
Rheims and could spend my leaves at home, I was still not there
enough, nor close enough to the situation to know all the details of
the differences which had arisen between my father and my uncle.
Naturally, too, the subject was avoided at home as much as possible,
for my father, who could talk with vehemence about any subject
which interested him even mildly, would go into a rage of towering
proportions about Arnold and those whom he believed had influenced
him.
To whom would such a separation be most profitable? It must be
obvious to anyone with a knowledge of the art world — or, for that
matter, the general business world — that so dynamic a firm in a
highly competitive field could not have developed without arousing
jealousy, envy, even fear or hatred. The stakes involved were high;
one does not juggle with millions without fomenting intrigues and
coalitions directed toward upsetting the balance of success. Together
the two brothers were an indestructible force, working for the greater
name of Seligmann; separated they could perhaps be outdone by
competitors.
It would be foolish to pretend that my father was an easy man to
work with or for; few brilliant and dynamic men are. Uncle Arnold
was often irked by his dictatorial methods. I know that he had been
44
The Palais de Sagan
resentful for some time of my father's keeping the buying so firmly in
his own hands. I suspect that it was the acquisition of Sagan, and the
consequent drawing away from Place Vendome of many of the finest
objects and many of the most important clients which precipitated
matters. Since my father spent most of his time at Sagan, Arnold had,
perforce, had a freer hand and this taste of independence, doubtless
encouraged by outside interests, emboldened Arnold to make de-
mands to which my father was not willing to concede.
Whatever the cause, from then on the two brothers fought their
competitive battles separately, and with visors down.
Family ties were strong in Jacques Seligmann; aside from any busi-
ness consideration, the separation was a sadder blow to him emotion-
ally than he would ever have admitted. Fortunately, the work he
loved was the panacea to cure both hurts, and he submerged himself
in the challenge to show the world, and particularly his brother
Arnold, how much he could again achieve alone, as he had in the
beginning.
Certainly the internal difficulties of the firm do not appear to have
hampered either Jacques Seligmann's buying or his selling. A random
coverage of the art press for the years 1912 and 1913 finds his name
repeatedly conspicuous among the buyers at important auctions with
only the publicly recorded purchases totaling hundreds of thousands
of dollars — the Buisseret sale in Brussels, the Lanna and Lippmann
sales in Berlin, the Jean Dollfus and Jacques Doucet sales in Paris,
the Rita Lydig sale in New York, the Charles Wertheimer sale in
London. This last must have had a special, even sentimental, quality
for my father, for Charles Wertheimer, who died in 1912, was one of
the brothers whose tea Jacques Seligmann had so naively interrupted
twenty-five years earlier. When my father presented his check for
the sum of the day's purchases — more than twenty-seven thousand
pounds or about a hundred and thirty-five thousand dollars — I like
to think he remembered that earlier occasion when even a hundred
pounds would have made so much difference to him.
One of the problems presented by the division was the loss to my
father of the Place Vendome address, where for many years clients
had been accustomed to find him. To get around this difficulty, space
was taken on the ground floor of 17 Place Vendome, between the old
firm and the Hotel Ritz. The move brought about another law suit
with my Uncle Arnold, which was settled in my father's favor. This
address was soon abandoned in favor of quarters in a business build-
45
MERCHANTS OF ART
ing which my father purchased at 9 rue de la Paix, a location which
the firm of Jacques Seligmann & Cie. maintained until it was closed
by the Nazis in 1940.
Headquarters, however, were at the Palais de Sagan, and some
means had to be devised to fix its importance more firmly in the public
eye. My father had never been particularly addicted to exhibitions,
even though he had added the auxiliary building at Sagan for that
purpose. But now well-advertised public showings, particularly those
for the benefit of some worthy cause, seemed a logical method of
bringing the art-minded public, as well as the choice collectors, to
Sagan. An ideal opportunity was offered in the spring of 1912, when
J. P. Morgan agreed to allow the exhibition of the marvelous group
of ivories from the Hoentschel collection before they were shipped
off to America. Later, in the early summer of that year, the height of
the Parisian social season, Sagan was turned over to a committee,
headed by the Comtesse Greffuhle, which had organized a huge
exhibition of contemporary painting and decorative arts. Both, na-
turally, brought tremendous crowds of the art-minded, the merely
curious, and the fashionable to Sagan.
To open the fall season, the great rooms of Sagan were hung with a
fabulous display of some of the finest tapestries ever gathered to-
gether by a private collector, again J. Pierpont Morgan. This exhibi-
tion, too, had a distinguished sponsoring committee, as it was a benefit
for Les Amis du Louvre — a gesture not without its ironical aspects, as
my father and J. Pierpont Morgan had more than once incurred the
displeasure of the Louvre over some work of art which had left
France. Whether by design or accident, however, the display tact-
fully included only one example which had come from a French col-
lection. Nor was it a French work, but one of the two sumptuous
Crucifixion tapestries of Bernard van Orly, woven in Flanders for the
ancient collection of the Dukes of Berwick and Alba. My father had
acquired it for Morgan from the Jean Dollf us sale, and in the dispersal
of some of the Morgan properties in 1917, it went to Joseph Widener
who left it to the National Gallery at Washington. Another famous
example, and an extremely rare subject, was a great Credo of the 15th
century, the only complete example known. It had come originally
from Spain, from the Sambolo family.
All the rest, twenty-nine in all, carried the provenance of Knole
House, the venerable and justly celebrated family seat of the Sack-
46
The Palais de Sagan
villes at Sevenoaks, Kent, England. Morgan had purchased them
through my father when death duties forced Lord Sackville to raise
immediate cash. All of them dated from the 16th or the early 17th
century, and two, a Legend of Saint Veronica and the Miracle of the
Two Children, were superb examples of the rich gold and silver woven
technique. (The Saint Veronica is now in the Robert Lehman Col-
lection ) . A handsome catalogue was compiled by Seymour de Ricci
to commemorate the occasion, and a leading American art journal
extolled the exhibition under a headline reading, "Rare Gothic Tapes-
tries Exhibited at Sagan ... in the newly re-decorated premises of
the premier French professional collector."
The most beautiful and most thrilling of this prewar series of exhi-
bitions at Sagan was undoubtedly the Loan Exhibition of Medieval
and Renaissance Art, held in May of 1913, for the benefit of the
French Red Cross. The organizing committee was headed by the
Marquise de Ganay, herself a collector of knowledge and great taste.
The reception was graced by His Majesty, King Alfonso XIII of
Spain, the social lion of the season. Again, a beautiful catalogue was
published, with a special deluxe folio edition in which all of the three
hundred and forty-five examples of the choicest Medieval and Renais-
sance objets d'art were illustrated. Not one of them came from a
museum and not one of them was for sale; they were the prized
possessions of private collectors. As I look through the catalogue to-
day, I am struck anew by the beauty and quality of the objects it
contains.
It is fascinating to consider the exhibition, too, from the standpoint
of the history of collecting, for it was the debut of the American col-
lector as lender to Parisian exhibitions. For the first time, objects from
American collections re-crossed the Atlantic at the invitation of the
sponsors of a great exhibition. If anyone had the desire and the will to
duplicate the exhibition today — and what a revelation it would be to
a generation who believe that only painting is great art and that
painting begins with Manet — it would be possible to do so almost in
its entirety. The roster of American lenders would be much longer
and those lenders would be largely American museums, thanks to the
generosity of such collectors as George Blumenthal, Senator William
A. Clark, Jules Bache, Philip Lehmann, Mortimer Schiff, and, of
course, John Pierpont Morgan.
47
CHAPTER V
The Fabulous Barons de Rothschild
The patronage of the various members of the great inter-
national banking and collecting family of Rothschild
had a considerable influence on the early success of Jacques Selig-
mann. When such discriminating and experienced collectors display
faith in the taste and ability of a young antiquarian, others are sure
to follow their lead. If any Rothschild was aware of his importance
to my father there was never any evidence of it in word or deed. In
the early days of my father's career when he must often have been
pressed for ready cash and anxious to make a sale, there was never
any suggestion of awareness of the possibilities this offered. On the
contrary, their attitude toward him seems always to have been one
of generosity and a special kindness. It was natural, then, that Jacques
Seligmann felt a devotion to the Rothschilds beyond the natural re-
spect of a businessman for a valued client. It is greatly to be regretted
that he himself never recorded his memories of these associations,
for my own experience with the older generations of the family was
limited.
What a magnitude of artistic treasure might be assembled were it
possible to draw up a great catalogue under the global heading of the
Collections of the Barons de Rothschild! Generation after generation
— in Paris, in London, in Frankfurt, in Vienna or Berlin or Naples —
every Rothschild has been a collector. Some have been so largely in the
sense of guarding and enjoying the great works of art which they
inherited. But each Rothschild I have known, to the present genera-
tion, was and is an amateur in the truest sense, which implies both
knowledge and taste. Few catalogues exist to give even a vague idea
of what such an aggregation once represented or represents today.
48
The Fabulous Barons de Rothschild
If in recent years certain works of art from Rothschild collections
have changed hands, some of the smaller collections dispersed, or
others donated to the nation, for generations nothing of importance
left the hands of the family. It was a generally accepted tradition that
works of art were never sold upon the death of their owner, but were
bequeathed to the male descendants. Probably no private collection
outside a royal one has ever existed which could rival such an assem-
blage. Even the Wallace Collection, also assembled over generations,
would be small by comparison with the aggregate of the Rothschild
collections in the last generation.
It is curious, then, considering the volumes which have been writ-
ten about the financial and political activties of the Rothschilds, how
little exists about the role they have played in the world of art. Such
a lacuna in the literature of collecting can perhaps best be explained
by the determination with which they have always avoided publicity.
Outside the inevitable financial news, the only press they have toler-
ated has been in the field of sport; after all, if the Baron Edouard's
horse won at Longchamps, it was a little difficult to disguise the fact
of ownership. But on the subject of art acquisitions, nothing ever ap-
peared. A remark which the Baron Edmond once made to me is typi-
cal (and almost identical to one made much later by another great
gentleman and collector, Henry Walters ) : any publicity about his
purchases would end his patronage. My father, naturally, respected
this reticence.
From the few words my father occasionally allowed himself on the
Rothschilds, I assume that he had been closest to Baron Alphonse and
his younger brother, Edmond, both sons of the famous Baron James,
founder of the Paris branch. He was well acquainted, too, with the
third son, Baron Gustave, and his cousin Baron Adolphe, who came
to Paris after the closing of the Naples house. He seems to have known
Baron Salomon less well. The collections of the Viennese Rothschilds
— Barons Alphonse, Eugene, and Louis — as well as those of the
Frankfurt Goldschmidt-Rothchilds, also owed many of their treasures
to Jacques Seligmann's efforts. However, this chapter is concerned
with those living in Paris.
The oldest member of the family whom I ever met was Baron
Alphonse, a prodigious figure who was then head of the firm. I was
a boy when the Baron died in 1905, but he must have impressed me,
for I remember his appearance quite clearly — his tall, spare figure
49
MERCHANTS OF ART
and his white mutton-chop whiskers. Some years later I met his
widow in an encounter which also made a deep impression on me. I
happened one day to be standing on the steps at the doorway of
Sagan when I saw walking toward me from the entrance to the court-
yard, a small white-haired woman clothed in black. The nearer she
came, the less impressed I was with her appearance. The woolen suit
she wore was of the style of the nineties, fastened to the neck with
small, round cloth-covered buttons and ornamented only by a white
collar of the Gibson girl type. Her brisk pace revealed high button
shoes under the long skirt. On top of her head perched a small black
hat, difficult to describe except that it looked old-fashioned and cer-
tainly not elegant. Young, and quick to jump to conclusions, I was
sure that here was someone with a hard luck story and I thought to
spare my father by disposing of the matter at once, so I awaited her
where I was.
As she approached the foot of the steps, she stated in an assured
voice that she wished to speak with Mr. Jacques Seligmann. I replied,
rather haughtily, I am afraid, that my father was too busy to receive
anyone at the moment. Having by this time reached my level at the
top of the short flight of steps, she looked me up and down with an icy
glance, drew herself up to her small height, and said, "Just tell him
anyway that the Baroness Alphonse de Rothschild wishes to see him."
Lightning could not have struck me more effectively. By then I
saw the coupe of the Baroness, complete with coachman and foot-
man, drawn by two superb, spirited horses, negotiating the narrow
entrance. Had she remained in her coach until it had entered the
courtyard, what a personal service she would have rendered me.
When the Baroness saw my father, she was good enough to ignore
my foolishness and allowed him to present me, though I am sure that
I detected a small twinkle in her eyes as she smilingly gave me her
hand to kiss. To this day, whenever I find myself about to assess a new
acquaintance or a new client on the basis of dress, her image is apt to
appear before my mind's eye.
Baron Alphonse's father, Baron James, had built the large house on
the rue Laffitte, which is now the headquarters of the bank, and the
fabulous Chateau de Ferrieres, a few miles east of Paris, which has
now become a historic landmark. An intimate of Louis-Philippe,
Baron James was a frequent visitor at the French court, and in turn
50
The Fabulous Barons de Rothschild
was favored with the King's presence at receptions or the celebrated
hunting parties at Ferrieres, noted for its game preserves. Later,
Napoleon III was also a guest at the chateau, though it is said that
Baron James neither liked nor trusted him.
Ferrieres was built in 1857 by the English architect, Sir Joseph
Paxton, and decorated in the 19th century conception of Renaissance
style — thus more 19th century than Renaissance, but nevertheless
imposing. Eugene Lami, the charming and witty artist who recorded
the colorful life of the courts of both Louis-Philippe and Queen Vic-
toria, is reputed to have been in charge of interior decorations; the
walls of a small salon are frescoed with Venetian scenes signed by
him. Like all the Rothschild houses, it was filled with works of art of
the past — paintings, furniture, superb tapestries and a ceiling by Tie-
polo. At the close of the war of 1870, Ferrieres was commandeered
by the Prussians for the use of William I and Bismarck during the
peace negotiations. In World War II it was again occupied by Ger-
man invaders.
Baron Alphonse inherited the Chateau de Ferrieres, along with the
leadership of the Paris firm, upon the death of Baron James in 1868.
In Paris he occupied the Hotel de la Vrilliere, just off the Place de la
Concorde at the corner of the rue de Rivoli and the rue St. Florentine.
More familiarly known as the Hotel de Talleyrand, the house had
once been owned and occupied by the Due de Talleyrand, Prince de
Benevent, the "weathervane" statesman, who had begun his career as
a priest and given his allegiance first to the church and then suc-
cessively to each new form of revolution and government. It was
there, after the final defeat of Napoleon, to whom Talleyrand owed
his huge fortune and his titles, that he lavishly entertained France's
enemies of the day before — the Russians, the Prussians, and the Eng-
lish. Baron Alphonse's son, Edouard, lived in the Hotel de Talleyrand
until the beginning of World War II. In his lifetime it was a veritable
treasure house, where quite literally every room contained great
works of art. After World War II the Hotel de Talleyrand became the
headquarters of the Marshall Plan, the American aid program in
Europe. It has since been used by agencies of the U.S. government.
The member of the Rothschild family whose memory I particularly
cherish is Baron Edmond, youngest of the three sons of Baron James,
not only for the great kindness he always showed me and the time
he was willing to spend with me, but especially because in my rela-
51
MERCHANTS OF ART
tionship with him, the memory of my father was alive. Baron Edmond
was already seventy-eight years of age when my father died in 1923.
My father was the link between us, and I feel sure that the real rea-
son for the interest the Baron evinced in my visits to him or his to me
was the opportunity it gave him to reminisce. He found me a ready
listener, as I was always eager to know more of my father's early
career and the collectors of his time.
The first clear memory I have of this tall, slender man, truly aristo-
cratic in character as well as in appearance and manner, was at Sagan
shortly after World War I. I may still have been in uniform. He had
come for the purpose of visiting the "treasure trove," as he called the
steel and concrete vault which my father had built in the basement
for the safekeeping of the most precious small items. Among the
objects stored there on this occasion was an exceptionally fine group
of gold-enameled snuffboxes recently acquired from a well-known
collector. Picking them up one by one and delicately turning them
about in his long tapering fingers, Baron Edmond admired them
knowingly as the two men argued their relative merits. Then holding
out a particularly lovely one, he turned to my father and asked, "What
valuation do you put on this one?"
"Oh, roughly 200,000 francs," answered my father.
After a few more minutes of examination the Baron said, "Well, I
think I'll indulge myself — I'll take it."
"And what will you give me for it," said my father solemnly. "You
asked for my valuation, not my selling price. That would have to be
considerably higher."
Of course, Baron Edmond bought the box — and for the price men-
tioned. This little skirmish, of a type which can only happen between
the best of friends, is indicative of the mutual trust and common
understanding which had grown between them.
To give an adequate idea of the extent of the collection of Baron
Edmond would be a formidable task. His interest had no boundaries.
I believe he knew as much of pre-Christian art as he did of Medieval
or Renaissance; and though the representation of French 18th cen-
tury art in his collection was considerable, I would not venture to say
that it was unsurpassed by other fields.
A heavy doorway at Number 41, Faubourg Saint Honore, was all
that the passer-by could see of Baron Edmund's town house set amidst
gardens which led through to the avenue Gabriel. Once inside the
52
The Fabulous Barons de Rothschild
walls, it seemed remote indeed from that busy thoroughfare. A monu-
mental stairway led up to the formal reception rooms on the first
floor, and on the second was the big family living room where I was
always received. Basically Louis XVI in style, but with something
of the 19th century in its comfortable informality, its contents alone
would have constituted a lifetime achievement for many an ambitious
collector. On the walls, hanging in two or three rows, were some of
the world's great paintings, Goya, Rembrandt, Fragonard, and 16th
century portraits.
One day, while awaiting the Baron who was still occupied with a
previous caller, I was shown into a small room which I had never seen
before. There, in vitrines and on the walls, was displayed a dazzling
array of Romanesque and Medieval works of art, none of which were
known to me. My pleasure at this unexpected aesthetic treat should
have been enough for one day, but, such is the perversity of human
nature, my appetite was only whetted, and my curiosity aroused to
see what was behind other closed doors. When in a little while I was
shown into the sitting room and found my elderly host in a mellow
mood, I ventured to ask the privilege of seeing more of the collection.
Knowing that the Baron was easily fatigued — he was then past eighty
— I suggested that perhaps the keeper of the collection, his secretary,
or even the butler might be delegated to escort me. Not at all, he
would do it himself.
Passing through a dark corridor opening from the opposite end of
the room, he led me into two lovely rooms furnished with some of
the most exquisite examples of Louis XV furniture it has ever been
my pleasure to see. Ornamented with delicately chiseled ormolu and
dainty Sevres plaques, they were fit to grace the apartments of a
queen or a royal mistress which, if I remember correctly, was their
origin, though I have forgotten whether at the Chateau de Bellevue
of the Marquise de Pompadour or Louveciennes of Madame du
Barry. The Baron noted in passing that my father knew the pieces
well, from which I gathered that he had had some responsibility for
their acquisition.
Returning through the same corridor, now lighted from the open
doors, I could see that the walls were lined with a series of small
gouaches which I stopped to examine. To my delight they were by
Lavreince, Baudouin, and other rare French 18th century artists who
are the joy of the truly discriminating amateur of that refined and
53
MERCHANTS OF ART
sprightly period. When I voiced a mild protest at such charming
works being hidden in this obscure passageway, his reply was that of
a man who not only cares much for works of art, but who also feels
the responsibility of their ownership. They were so placed to protect
them from the daylight which in time would spoil them, a sad truth
too often disregarded.
Baron Edmond owned another exquisite house on the very out-
skirts of Paris, in Boulogne just off the Bois, where he frequently went
in the spring, and a chateau at Armainvilliers just east of Paris near
Gretz. I once had occasion to drive there with him. It was late autumn
or early winter, and the partly closed house was dreary and cold, yet
fascinating because of the works of art throughout.
Though it is naturally difficult to tempt a man of eighty who has
been collecting all his life and who has houses full of art treasures,
Baron Edmond's visits to me were never dull, for his comments on
anything shown him were lively and interesting. He was extremely
fastidious in his tastes and had very set ideas about the ideal condition
of a work of art. Arriving one day at Sagan, he prefaced his visit with
the usual statement that he was not interested in buying anything,
and anyway, with his failing sight, he could no longer enjoy art ob-
jects. Nevertheless, he did enjoy the few items I considered worthy of
his attention, chosen from a wide range to suit his eclectic taste. I had
purchased, only a few days earlier, a delightful small painting by
Fragonard, a version of Dites, done, s'il vous plait. One of the witty
family scenes carried out in a broad, brilliant technique, it was a
canvas in every way suitable for the Baron's collection. I asked an
assistant to bring in this little gem, not telling Baron Edmond what
he was to see. The man had hardly entered the room, holding the tiny
canvas's back to us until he could place a small easel on the table,
when Baron Edmond exclaimed, "No, I do not wish to see it!"
My face evidently showed my astonishment, for he added in an
accusing tone, "You've had it cleaned!"
"You're perfectly right, Baron," I replied, "but how on earth did
you know without even seeing the face of the canvas?"
"Because I smell it!"
The answer was so unexpected that I had to laugh. It was true, of
course. The painting had been returned only that morning from the
restorer and the odor of fresh varnish was quite noticeable.
Put in front of him he greatly admired it, nevertheless, but said
54
The Fabulous Barons de Rothschild
with a sigh, "If only you hadn't cleaned it, I certainly would have
bought it."
Of no avail to explain that the old yellow varnish had completely
hidden the radiant color and subtle shading; useless to tell him that
had he seen it in the condition in which it was, he certainly would
not have wanted it. He just answered, "Never mind. To me the paint-
ing has lost something, reeking of varnish as it does. What a pity, for
it is indeed an exquisite thing, and I congratulate you upon owning it."
Baron Robert, son of Gustave and thus a grandson of James,
occupied a lovely house in the avenue de Marigny just opposite the
Palais de l'Elysee and, in the country, the equally charming Chateau
de la Versine. To my knowledge, he was the only Rothschild, at least
of the older generations, who deviated from the more conservative
fields of collecting into the modern. He had allowed himself to be
tempted by Renoir and I particularly recall, in the avenue de Marigny
house, a truly superb canvas by that artist, Rosiers a Wargemont,
probably painted around 1875-1880. Its quality was in keeping with
the other masterpieces he owned.
All the Rothschilds were, and probably still are, collectors, ama-
teurs of the beautiful; but people who live continuously among mas-
terpieces attain standards of discrimination which make them diffi-
cult to tempt. Yet no member of the family that I ever knew appeared
satiated or bored by their own or other people's works of art. Baron
Edouard, for instance, whose collection left little to be desired in
either quality or quantity, could not resist when something particu-
larly alluring came his way. When he and the Baroness appeared at
Sagan on the opening of the exhibition of the Philippe Wiener col-
lection, I greeted them as guests at a social function rather than as
amateurs looking for further treasures. Before they left, however, two
or three small but delicately beautiful items had acquired a new
home.
Still another example of this continuously living interest in art was
Baron Henri, who, though son of Baron James of the London Roth-
schilds, made his home in Paris. His professional field was medicine
rather than the traditional finance, and he was an active participant
in the various scientific and charitable institutions founded by mem-
bers of the family. One of these was the hospital for tubercular chil-
dren at Berck, near Le Touquet, and another the Laiterie in Paris, a
milk station for indigent children. It was he who founded the famous
55
MERCHANTS OF ART
Institut du Cancer where Madame Curie worked, and his son, Baron
Philippe, still carries on his father's interest in and patronage of this
institution.
Though most of the Rothschilds are tall and slender, Baron Henri
was of medium height and somewhat rotund, with an air of bonhomie
and easy good nature. He had a passion for the theater and wrote a
series of plays under the nom de plume of Andre Pascal, a number
of which were produced and attained some popular success. He
served as a Captain in the French Medical Corps in World War I
and his elder son, Baron James, was a pilot in the famous Guynemer
Squadron. The latter and the younger son, Philippe, also distin-
guished themselves in World War II, holding the rank of Major in
their respective branches of Air Corps and Army. Captured during
the fall of France, Philippe de Rothschild was sent to a prison camp
in Morocco, from which he escaped at the end of 1942 to join General
de Gaulle in London.
Baron Henri, as one might expect from his literary bent, was much
interested in books and manuscripts; his collection is now in the
Bibliotheque Nationale. But he also had a taste for fine paintings,
whether by a great name or by a charming minor master such as
Boilly, of whom he was particularly fond. His collection was re-
nowned, too, for an exceptional group of Guardis and Chardins; he
was author, under the name of Pascal, of a book on the latter artist.
Many of his paintings were inherited, but he continued to add to the
collection until it ranged through period and country, including Goya,
Frans Hals, Nattier, Drouais. It was he who acquired the superb La
Tour, Portrait of Duval de YEpinoy, when it reached one of the high-
est prices paid in the fabulous Doucet sale of 1912. It is now in the
Gulbenkian Collection.
He also owned an exquisite group of gold-enameled snuffboxes,
which had belonged to the Baroness Salomon de Rothschild, as well
as other objets d'art. These, his library, and his paintings were divided
between his lovely home on the grounds of the former Folie de la
Muette near the Bois de Boulogne and his country place, the cele-
brated Abbaye des Vaux-de-Cernay near the forest of Rambouillet.
An amusing, if perhaps apocryphal, news note appeared shortly
after the Doucet sale to the effect that Baron Henri was building the
home in the Bois to protect his art treasures because he found the
vibrations of the buses on the Faubourg St. Honore disturbing to the
56
The Fabulous Barons de Rothschild
pastel of the La Tour. Greater love hath no man for a work of art; if
true, it was entirely compatible with the feeling of the Rothschilds.
If the cause of, even the necessity for, the reticence of the Roth-
schild family is understandable, the art historian can only mourn it,
for no one has ever known or will know the extent in quality and
quantity of the works of art owned through the generations by these
fabulous collectors. Particularly impressive would be its universality
of taste, for there was no period of Western art in which some one of
these noblemen was not interested. If it is natural enough that some
of the German and Austrian collections were overweighted with
German silver of the later Renaissance, the Parisian collections, on
the other hand, were handsomely provided with the greatest works
of the French 18th century. The collection of early woodcuts, en-
gravings, and etchings which Baron Edmond made (and bequeathed
to the French nation) is close to perfection.
The roster of great painters would be complete: from Van Eyck
to Vermeer to Ingres; Rembrandt, Rubens, Van Dyck, Franz Hals,
Boucher, Fragonard, Goya, Gainsborough, Reynolds. All are repre-
sented, some by canvases not even recorded in the catalogues rai-
sonnes.
Their appreciation of certain rare types of craftsmanship was ex-
ceptional, and until a few years ago it was only in the Rothschild col-
lections that one could truly study the exquisitely delicate faience
known as St. Porchaire d'Oiron, created for the personal use of
Henri II and Diane de Poitiers. The same could be said of the pre-
cious 16th century enamels of Limoges, the sumptuous portraits by
Leonard Limousin, the highly decorative plates and ewers, a group
rivaled only in the Louvre; or of the delicate, creamy so-called Medici
porcelain and the Deruta and Gubbio plates iridescent with chamois
and ruby luster.
Although the Rothschilds did not concentrate on any one period or
any one type of object, my personal experience has been that a cer-
tain caliber of man reacts to a kindred quality in periods of art. His-
torical cycles of unusual dynamism, effervescent with new activities,
new discoveries, and vital personalities, generate works of art which
express the aspirations and ambitions of the patrons who commanded
them, as well as the artists who created them. Thus the works of the
Renaissance in both Italy and France subconsciously appeal to psy-
chological or even metaphysical affinities in later generations.
57
MERCHANTS OF ART
It may be argued that the attraction is more historic than aesthetic,
but I disagree. Certainly in the case of the Rothschilds, the historical
side was academic, immersed as they were in making history them-
selves. No, it is because these precious creations, made for such dy-
namic personalities as the Medicis, the Sforzas, Francois I, reflect the
temperament of the men who made them, the men who ordered
them, and the men who later collected them. Similarly, great ex-
amples of French 18th century art offered the refinement, measure,
and beauty essential to a high degree of culture. That this kinship be-
tween the personality of the collector and the art which attracts him
has been neglected by scholars is somewhat surprising in our days of
introspection and psychoanalysis.
Despite the wall of reserve which the Rothschilds have built about
themselves and their art treasures, they are far from reluctant to
share their good fortune with the public. Though catalogues of public
exhibitions almost never list a Rothschild name, if one could assemble
all the works of art which they have lent anonymously, both the total
number and the quality would be impressive. In addition, they have
made munificent gifts to the museums of Paris.
Great works of art have a quality of immortality which is often
more enduring than the personalities of the men who made them, the
men who commissioned them, or the collectors who may be the in-
struments of their preservation. To the true art lover who is at the
same time a philanthropist ( and the terms are by no means synony-
mous), the preservation and public enjoyment of the work of art is
sufficient reward. But it is only just that from time to time their names
be rescued from the relative obscurity of museum labels and com-
memorative tablets.
Many visitors to the Louvre know the Boscoreale treasure — that
stunning group of 1st century Roman silver which was such a sensa-
tion when it was recovered from the ashes of Vesuvius in 1895 — but
how many recall that it was the generosity of Baron Edmond de Roth-
schild which placed it there. Later his heirs also gave to the French
nation his great collection of xylographs, engravings, and etchings,
one of the most complete and discriminating ever made by a private
collector.
Baron Adolphe was donor of a superb group of Gothic and Renais-
sance objects and a long list was added by the Baroness Nathaniel.
More recently, Baron Guy de Rothschild and his two sisters presented
58
The Fabulous Barons de Rothschild
to the Louvre a magnificent portrait of the Countess Doria by Van
Dyck in memory of their father, Baron Edouard. The already fabulous
stacks of the Bibliotheque Nationale were further enriched by the
books and autographs of Baron Henri, who also contributed gener-
ously to the collections of Cluny. The enumeration could go on end-
lessly.
In recognition of the encouragement they gave to the arts and
sciences — their personal interests included many intellectual and
aesthetic fields — both Baron Alphonse and Baron Edmond were
elected Membres de Vlnstitut, the greatest honor that France can
grant in the fields of higher learning. It is surprising, however, that
no greater place was made for them on the boards of those very mu-
seums in which the Rothschilds were, and certainly still are, so keenly
interested. Is this perhaps again because their reserve and modesty
kept them from accepting such posts, assuming that they were of-
fered?
59
CHAPTER VI
St. Petersburg, 19W
r
*n the late fall of 1910, my father assigned me to my first im-
portant mission. Carrying it out involved me in an Ara-
bian-nights journey to St. Petersburg, capital of all the Russias and
principal seat of the Czar. As I look back upon it, I wonder at my fa-
ther's temerity; I was not quite eighteen.
Going to Russia in those days was no small undertaking, not that
it has ever been exactly easy. Where travel tc Austria or Italy, for in-
stance, involved nothing more complicated than buying a ticket and
reserving a sleeper on the international wagons-lits, a journey to Rus-
sia involved a good many more problems. First, one needed a pass-
port and a visa, for until World War I, Russia and the United States
were the only nations of the Western world requiring these docu-
ments. Then, looming large among the obstacles, were the severe cold
for which one had to prepare and, most formidable of all, the lan-
guage. As soon as one crossed the eastern borders of Germany into the
Slav-speaking countries, knowledge of French, English, or German
was of little avail. Fortunately, I did have a smattering of Russian, but
had I known none, it would not have marred to any great extent my
youthful excitement at the prospect ahead. Anyway, if one could
manage to overcome the language barriers of the journey, not the
least of which was bargaining with the droschky driver, one's troubles
were over, for St. Petersburg society at home spoke either French or
German, if not both, and Russian was reserved strictly for addressing
servants and peasants.
The Russia of those days was still in the feudal period. True, there
were no suits of armor, and the gowns of the beautiful women were
of the latest Parisian mode, but the manner of living was nearer that
St. Petersburg, 1910
of the 15th century. Life was centered about a few thousand persons
who, one felt, had the right of life or death over the rest of the popu-
lace. This vulgum pecus, toiling for the few, was occasionally granted
certain privileges and enjoyments according to the good grace of the
overlord, but, as in all tyrannical oligarchies, nothing in the life of
the lower strata had permanent character, dependent as it was upon
the mood of the all-powerful master.
This impression of the nothingness of the individual began at the
border, where all passengers were required to descend and traverse
heaps of snow to board the wider gauge Russian train. Falling in line
between beautifully uniformed Cossacks, whose long knouts were
an indispensable part of their accoutrement, a tedious inspection of
our passports ensued. Some travelers were openly favored with re-
peated salutes and clicking of heels, rushed out with their baggage,
and given their liberty at once. Others, not so fortunate as to belong
to the nobility or to be directly employed by them, were thrown back
into the herd and told, menacingly, to wait. Officers of the army or
navy had privileges, too, of course, but few of the untitled ever
reached this rank. The bags of the commoners were opened and
searched, not so much for dutiable goods as for dangerous literature
which might fall into the wrong hands and give the worker unfor-
tunate ideas of another world where liberty and equality had mean-
ing. One Czarist tradition which has not been liquidated!
When one is almost eighteen and fate has granted such an adven-
ture, with a maximum of comfort and no immediate worry except the
obvious one of getting through these tiresome formalities and on to
St. Petersburg, such observations touch one lightly. It is only later
that comparisons and impressions crystallize into understanding.
Once out of the toils of the threatening Cossacks and back on the
train, steaming slowly across the everlasting vastness of the Russian
plains, white and silent under their thick mantle of snow, or through
the dense forests of pines and silver birches, life in Russia seemed
only stirring in its novelty and strangeness. As day after day the same
roadless landscape unfolded, snow and more snow, dotted here and
there with a miserable hamlet, even a casual young student of history
might be led to wonder how there could have been a man so daring as
to imagine that he could nourish a conquering army in this wilderness.
Had Napoleon made this journey before undertaking his campaign,
would he have ventured it?
61
MERCHANTS OF ART
I thought, too, of my father, as a young man, making this same trip
by third-class carriage. He had been among the first of the Parisian
art dealers to undertake the long trip to Russia, which, with limited
means and no friends, could have involved real risks. After several
visits, and considerable persistence, Jacques Seligmann had finally
gained access, via the front door, to fabulous palaces into which, in
earlier years, he could hardly have penetrated by the tradesmen's
entrance. Behind these palace walls were untold numbers of works
of art of all periods, but particularly those of the French 18th century,
accumulated through years of princely collecting. Due to the indif-
ference of some owners and the cupidity of others, usually heirs rather
than actual collectors, my father was able to carry back to Paris treas-
ures which eventually found their way into the cabinets of his clients.
Conversely, he had also acquired important Russian clients, includ-
ing no less a personage than His Majesty, Nicholas II the Czar of all
the Russias. According to a New York newspaper, my father had en-
joyed "one of the rare distinctions of the world in being admitted
alone to the presence of the Czar."
It was the Grand Duke, H. I. H. Nicholas Mikhailovitch, who had
presented my father to his uncle the Czar, and, naturally, the Grand
Duke was one of the first persons upon whom I called. A grand
seigneur in the fullest sense, with all the prerogatives and functions,
military and civil, pertaining to a direct blood relative of the ruler,
he was also a great scholar. Membre correspondent of the French
Institute, his St. Petersburg palace, one of many throughout Russia,
was a center where savants, scientists, and collectors met. As a great
admirer of Napoleon, the Grand Duke was much interested in doc-
uments relating to the life of the French Emperor as well as in works
of art of that period. He collected miniatures by the leading Direc-
toire and Empire artists and was collaborating with the French col-
lector, David- Weill, in compiling a corpus of late 18th century minia-
ture painting. What happened to the manuscript after the events of
1917 ended the life of this exceptional character, I do not know.
A few days after my courtesy call, His Imperial Highness invited
me to join one of his intimate luncheons. It was served in one of the
smaller rooms, by half a dozen footmen in imperial livery, to a dozen
intellectuals and scholars, plus as many dignitaries of His Highness'
household. The afternoon was well along when we arose from the
table and the Grand Duke excused himself, saying he had been called
62
St. Petersburg, 1910
unexpectedly to the Czar's palace. Most charmingly he inquired
whether I would like to be driven anywhere; if so, a sleigh was at my
disposition. Feeling the need of exercise after abundant food and
wine, I declined with thanks, explaining that I was just going back
to the Hotel de l'Europe and would enjoy the walk.
Winter daylight lasts only a few hours in St. Petersburg and it was
already dusk when I started down the avenue, looking extraordinarily
broad with its snow-covered sidewalks. As I strolled along, fascinated
by the strange sights, I suddenly heard behind me, muffled by the
crisp, heavy snow, the wild sound of galloping horses and shouting
men. I looked back, and instinctively threw myself against the wall
of the nearest house, for coming at full speed was a troika, preceded
by a detachment of Cossacks flaying their knouts to right and left to
whip pedestrians out of their path. My first thought was that the erect
man in uniform must be the Czar, for only he would dare such a dis-
play of omnipotence and such complete disregard for the lives of his
subjects. To my utter amazement, the demigod of the troika, I could
see as it passed me, was none other than my recent host, the membre
correspondent of the Institut, the fine causeur, the dilettante collec-
tor, the Grand Duke Nicholas Mikhailovitch, wrapped in his furs, ob-
livious to the scene before him.
Fortunately time has a faculty of glossing over the unpleasant, and
one generally remembers the sunnier moments. These few weeks, of
which I still retain certain vivid images, seem now like a dream given
a measure of reality only by the strength of the emotions the memo-
ries revive. In spite of the brilliance and sophistication of prewar life
in Paris, London, Berlin, or Vienna which deservedly captured the
imagination of many a traveler, their atmosphere was truly pale and
shadowy in comparison to that of St. Petersburg.
Partly European, yet still oriental in its sumptuous luxury, in its
depravity, and in its indifference to western morals, the standards
were completely different. Work was apparently unknown among
the few thousand privileged. Money was made by those one employed
for that purpose, and the privileged who received it had the greatest
disdain and disregard for it. It was considered small, petty, even in
bad taste, to talk of money. The high nobility ignored even the mean-
ing of the word and carried none on their persons, the touch of so
low a commodity being left to the secretaries and the butlers. True,
one might carry a bound purse to be tossed to a mendicant with a
63
MERCHANTS OF ART
gesture which seemed, and probably was, disdainful, but was to
them only a most natural one. It was simply the remnant of a cen-
turies-old tradition of feudalism, when the only career worthy of a
nobleman was the military. He, as overlord, had all the privileges in-
cumbent upon rank, however far he considered these prerogatives
should go.
Thrown by circumstances into this whirl of idleness and easy en-
joyment, I partook for a few weeks of all the liberties offered by a
society the like of which I could not have conceived. The night life
was, of course, the most fantastic part of this world; for many it was
the only life, since there were few hours of actual daylight. The round
of parties ended in the early hours of the morning and, allowing a
few for sleep, it was again dark when the social whirl recommenced.
A focal point in St. Petersburg was the Hotel de l'Europe where,
around tea time, the smart world, hardly out of bed, began to gather.
Here mingled both society and the demi-monde, for the lavish life
naturally attracted women from all strata hoping to be noticed and,
setting virtue aside, to achieve prominence in the capital. The opera,
the ballet, the many theaters furnished opportunities for a would-be
protector to claim an opening for a newly discovered "star." The
women represented in their beauty all the cosmos that is Russia —
tall blondes from the north with milky white skin, dark houris from
the south with a perfume of lemon all their own; beauties from the
mountains or from the steppes, witty and quick, or languorous and
unhurried. Wherever one went in the deadly cold, the same amazing
sight struck the eye, men and women alike muffled in precious furs
of ermine, chinchilla, sable, or mink. Under them the women wore
the latest Paris creations of a sumptuousness rarely seen elsewhere
in such profusion — lames, velvets, brocades, cut with deep decolle-
tage to display the rivers of precious stones and pearls which flowed
beneath the lovely heads sparkling with diamonds. Seen in such lav-
ishness, jewels and furs lost all importance as such, and reverted to
their true purpose, the enhancement of the beauty of a particular
woman. Their monetary value had no meaning, for the fortunes of
their donors derived from estates as big as provinces. The majority
of the men were in uniform — officers of the imperial guard, cavalry-
men, Cossacks whose belts were strung with pistols and cartridges.
Those who did wear the conventional black evening dress, added
their own notes of color in bright sashes or decorations dazzling with
64
St. Petersburg, 1910
pearls and precious stones. This gay and glittering throng whiled
away the early hours of the night at regally set dinner tables laden
with suckling pigs and whole sturgeons amidst a hothouse setting of
flowers and tropical plants, with vodka and champagne flowing
freely.
As the night wore on and the larger parties broke up, there came
the most stirring part of the entertainment, at least to the eyes of the
young westerner, the drive to The Islands. Over the frozen Neva in
sleighs or handsome troikas with the horses trotting their peculiar
gait to the silvery tinkle of bells, one drove at full speed to the inns
on the small pleasure islands which studded the river. Here the party
continued, in the private rooms of some inn, where orchestras of
tziganes entertained with exotic music and dances. By that hour the
women seemed even more sensuously tantalizing, and the shoulder
straps of their gowns did not appear to be as taut as they had a few
hours earlier. Outside, the moon, which had silvered the already
white landscape, set in its turn, and the twinkling stars smiled down
at the singing and dancing groups, oblivous of time.
Interesting as it was to observe and partake momentarily of the
life of the great of Russia, to visit private collections or study royal
ones in the public museums, the business purpose of the journey
could not be forgotten. This was the first important mission ever
entrusted to me and I was determined not to fail in it.
My father had delegated to me negotiations preliminary to the
purchase of the Swenigorodskoi collection of early Russo-Byzantine
enamels, one of the most important of its type in existence. Alexander
Swenigorodskoi was a Russian collector of the 19th century who had
become interested in medieval art during a trip to Spain in 1864. He
had collected so successfully that when, like so many collectors, he
developed a new passion, the Stietglitz Museum in St. Petersburg is
reported to have bought the first collection for one hundred and
thirty-five thousand dollars. The new interest, for Byzantine enamels,
had been awakened by another trip, this time to the Caucasus, and
by the time the second collection was catalogued in 1892, it was even
more celebrated than the first.
Swenigorodskoi was no longer living, and his enamels had passed
to another wealthy Russian collector, M. P. Botkine. Botkine's interest
ran from Tanagra figurines, of which he had hundreds, to Renaissance
decorative arts, and he had amassed a large, but unfortunately not
65
MERCHANTS OF ART
always discriminating, collection. He, too, was keen about Byzantine
enamels and if he acquired them with an uneven perception, there
was still the nucleus of his collection, the forty-two pieces from the
Swenigorodskoi collection, all of superb quality.
The exquisite little plaquettes, made in the 9th, 10th, or 11th cen-
turies in the delicate and fragile technique of cloisonne enamel on
gold, originally decorated icons, holy books, and other ecclesiastical
objects, as well as secular jewelry. Among the most beautiful, for
example, are nine rondels depicting heads of Christ, the Virgin, and
various saints which originally adorned a silver-gilt icon in the Mon-
astary of Djumati in Georgia.
The problem was to find out whether the owner was ready to sell
and, if so, at what price. Thus stated, it seems simple enough, but in
the art world there are always wheels within wheels, and this was
particularly so in those days of the free-spending big collectors. In
the first place, Mr. Botkine received few people and then only those
particularly qualified to appreciate his collection. The name of Selig-
mann would have been an open sesame; in fact, my father knew
Botkine well. But that would create another difficulty; for negotia-
tions begun in the name of Jacques Seligmann ran the very real
chance of pushing the price of the enamels beyond any reasonable
figure.
It was well known that Jacques Seligmann was J. Pierpont Mor-
gan's chief art advisor, and the name of Seligmann in connection
with these small precious objects, which were exactly the sort of
thing the great American collector most enjoyed, would immediately
have spelled Morgan. Money played no role when Morgan had his
heart set on a work of art and, though Europe was rich in those days,
there were few things, material or spiritual, which could not be
bought if the price was right — the honor of women or men, their
titles, their homes, even the tombs of their ancestors. On the other
hand, Morgan allowed no one to take advantage of him, and if
Jacques Seligmann had succeeded over a period of years in gaining
the full confidence of the great financier and becoming one of his
leading advisors, it was because he had made Morgan's interests his
own. My father's business ethics were extremely strict, and no amount
of money could have induced him to budge from a stand which he
considered proper. Thus, while the profit on a transaction could be
very large, he never hesitated to say so, and Morgan understood such
66
St. Petersburg, 1910
language. He recognized that a business must be profitable and re-
spected this, provided he felt the exchange was clear-cut. These con-
siderations made it imperative, in my father's opinion, that he secure
the best terms possible when buying for Morgan's account.
I was not told at the time whether my father was acting independ-
ently, in the case of the Swenigorodskoi enamels, or for the account
of Morgan. I have learned since that the latter was probably the case.
He had already felt out Botkine on the subject of selling, and now I
was to go to St. Petersburg, confer with a Russian nobleman who was
a great friend of the collector, and see what could be done about
obtaining a firm price. After considerable discussion, I agreed some-
what reluctantly to the Russian's suggestion that he present me as a
friend, a young man of means, interested in collecting, who wished
to remain anonymous for reasons of his own. Europe was full of in-
cognito traveling nobility, and I desperately hoped that I was being
taken for such. Then, as soon as I should have succeeded in obtain-
ing a price, I was to wire to my father, who would come posthaste.
Meanwhile, after first seeming anxious to purchase the exquisite bits,
I was to waver and hesitate, until the arrival of my father.
Since Paris was not just an overnight journey from St. Petersburg,
the days of waiting were torture for me. I worried about whether the
owner would change his mind and decide not to sell or, worse,
whether some other buyer would cut in. I was never more glad to see
my father than the day he arrived in St. Petersburg and I could bow
out of the picture after making one last call with him upon Botkine.
In his role of the eminent expert, my father took advantage of the
occasion to give me a lesson in the connoisseurship of early enamels.
Botkine's collection contained a number of items which purported to
be 9th or 10th century but were actually made much later, and my
father could compare them and show me why one was early and an-
other was not. Now since Jacques Seligmann had a firm price, he
could deal directly with Botkine and consummate the purchase in
his own name.
My anxieties were even then not quite ended, however. My father
was not returning directly to Paris, and it was up to me to carry the
precious load back to France. If it is easy now to tell that the little
gold sheaves arrived safely, my days and nights then were far from
pleasant. Across practically the whole of Europe, through border
after border, the precious box was most of the time hidden inside the
67
MERCHANTS OF ART
berth where, pretending illness, I remained as constantly as circum-
stances allowed. This was not for reasons of customs; there were no
customs regulations restricting the movement of works of art or of
gold, and these were both. Moreover, I carried a note from the French
embassy in St. Petersburg testifying to the bona fide ownership of
the enamels. It was decided not to declare them for two very good
reasons: to avoid, first, the voluminous red tape which a declaration
would have entailed at every frontier station and, second, the inevit-
able gossip over the great value of such small objects and the pos-
sibility of this reaching the ears of the light-fingered gentry who
frequented the transcontinental railroads. It was with real relief, and
some self-satisfaction, that I finally saw them deposited in the safe
in Paris and could go back to remembering the delights of my stay
in the land of the Czars.
68
CHAPTER VII
J. Pierpont Morgan
E
ate in December, 1912, Jacques Seligmann arrived in New
^York on the French liner La Provence and was inter-
viewed at the Ritz-Carlton by a reporter from the New York Herald.
"This year has been a busy one for me," he said. "I had to look
after the packing of Mr. Morgan's collection. ... In a fortnight [it]
will be in New York. . . . Nobody can imagine the beauty and rarity
of Mr. Morgan's collections. I, who have had every article in my hand,
cannot find words to express its marvelous beauty and quality. No
museum can compete with him. He has gathered a number of un-
surpassed translucent enamels."
He might have added, had he been in a reminiscent mood, that
almost the first purchase Morgan made from him was an enamel in
1902 — an exquisite chalice in silver gilt that he got from the Baron
Albert Von Oppenheim collection in Cologne. It was made in
the 14th century for the church of San Michele in Siena. Also, there
was the lovely copper-gilt ciborium from the Klosterneuberg Con-
vent in Austria, one of the most precious examples of early 14th cen-
tury champleve, that he bought in 1906. The same year he added the
gold and enamel bookcover from the Imperial collections of the
Hapsburgs and the unique tiny altar-tabernacle, another translucent
piece made in the 14th century. It originally belonged to the Convent
of Lichtenthal in Baden, Germany, and came from the collection of
the Count Arco-Zinneberg. To my father's mind, the loveliest and
rarest of all was the delicate little portable altar, no bigger than a
man's hand, which was already more than a hundred years old when
it belonged to its first recorded owner, a 15th century bishop, Thomas
Basin of Lisieux. It had come from a German nobleman along with
69
MERCHANTS OF ART
the great jeweled ciborium which bears the arms of the Wolff-
Metternich family and the date 1609.
Actually the interview continued in a less personal vein. "When
his [Morgan's] collection is seen as a whole, which has not been the
case up to now, it will be a revelation to the world and will give the
inspiration to his countrymen to follow his example. Europeans must
come here to study, and Americans will love all those wonderful
genuine things. There will then come a desire to purchase similar
treasures, and the people will see what Mr. Morgan has done, because
these genuine articles are very rare, and today no one is wealthy
enough to make another collection like Mr. Morgan's. . . . Look
what he has done for his country. You can be proud to have such a
citizen, for they are rare. . . . Can you imagine the treasures stored
in the Metropolitan Museum?"
One could not possibly imagine, and to enumerate all of Morgan's
fabulous purchases would be an enormous task — even just those
which came from my father. Sometimes Morgan bought single items,
often he acquired whole collections. The Baron Albert Von Oppen-
heim collection of objets d'art, for instance, which was purchased in
two groups in 1905 and 1906, included several hundred objects of
superb quality. One of the choicest was a Carolingian ivory plaque
dating from the 9th century. One of the rarest was a delicate Byzan-
tine reliquary of cloisonne enamel on gold which had belonged to the
Fieschi family, whose most illustrious member was Pope Innocent
IV, said to have owned the reliquary and its enclosing 13th century
ivory casket.
Morgan's taste was eclectic in period and type, as long as the
quality was outstanding. In 1907, he acquired, with equal enthusiasm,
an exceedingly rare Etruscan bronze cist, with its cover, dating from
the 4th century B.C. (it had once been in the Spitzer collection);
outstanding examples of the rich lustered majolica from Gubbio,
which he particularly loved; and two pieces of rare 16th century
faience from Saint Porchaire d'Oiron, one a saltcellar bearing the
crescent of Diane de Poitiers. All these were comparatively small
things which he could keep in his own cabinet, but the monumental
15th century sculptures from the Chateau de Biron could only go
in a museum. They, an Entombment of Christ and a Pietd, attributed
to the school of Michel Colombe, went directly to the Metropolitan
Museum upon their arrival in New York and have been there ever
70
Plate 33
Jean-Honore Fragonard (1732-1806). "Dites, done, s'il vous plait," 16a/i" x lQ1/^". Acquired by
Fritz Thyssen, Essen, 1928. Present collection: Folkwang Museum, Essen.
^3 I— &| tn
Plate 37
Hugo van der Goes (active 1467-1482). "Portrait of a Donor with Saint John the Baptist,"
121/4"x 8%". From the P. A. Borger Collection, Arnhem. Acquired by Henry Walters, Baltimore,
1920. Present collection: The Walters Art Gallery, Baltimore.
Plate 38
Mosan, 12th century. Gable end of the Chasse of Sainte-Ode (Amay, Belgium), silver and silver-
gilt, 23Vi6" x 147/s". From the Magniac Collection, London. Acquired by Henry Walters, Baltimore,
c. 1912. Present collection: The Walters Art Gallery, Baltimore.
R
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Plate 39a — ^—
Suzanne de Court (Limoges), 16th century. "The Passage of the Red Sea," enamel
plate, 20%" x 159V. Acquired by Henry Walters, Baltimore, 1928. Present collection:
The Walters Art Gallery, Baltimore.
Plate 39b
South German, 16th century. Knight's gold enameled necklace, length 18". From the Ester-
hazy Collection. Acquired by Henry Walters, Baltimore, 1923. Present collection: The
Walters Art Gallery, Baltimore.
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Attributed to Jacopo Sansovino (1486-1570).
"Saint John the Baptist," bronze, height 20%".
From the collection of the Empress Frederick of
Germany. Acquired by Henry Walters, Balti-
more, 1926. Present collection: The Walters Art
Gallery, Baltimore.
Plate 42b
Andrea Riccio (1470-1532). Bronze lamp,
height 9". Acquired by Richard Weininger,
New York, c. 1925.
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Eugene Delacroix (1798-1863). "Musiciens arabes," watercolor, 1836, 163/i"x23". (Study
for the painting in the Musee de Tours.) From the Collections Demidoff, Bouruet-Aubertot,
Duval, Faure, Marmontel and Tabourier. Acquired by Emil Biihrle, Zurich, 1953.
Plate 46b
Theodore Chasseriau (1819-1856). "Combat arabe," 1855, IS1/!/' x 18%". Acquired by
Grenville L. Winthrop, New York, 1935. Present collection: The Fogg Art Museum, Har-
vard University. Grenville L. Winthrop Bequest.
Plate 47
Pierre-Auguste Renoir (1841-1919). "Portrait of Monsieur Choquet," 1874, 18W'x14W. From
the collection of the Prince de Wagram, Paris. Acquired by Grenville L. Winthrop, New York,
1930. Present collection: The Fogg Art Museum, Harvard University. Grenville L. Winthrop Be-
quest.
French (Beauvais), 18th century. "Motherhood and Infancy, tapestry from the series,
"Four Ages of Life," commissioned by King Louis XVI, after cartoons by Francois Casa-
nova, 1778, 10' x 6'. Acquired by Herbert N. and Therese K. Straus, New York, 1931.
Present collection: Cincinnati Art Museum.
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Plate 51a
Antoine Watteau (1684-1721). "Two Studies of a Woman," drawing
aux trois crayons, TW' x 8M". From the Crozat Collection. Acquired by
Herbert N. and Therese K. Straus, New York, 1931.
Plate 51b
Jean-Honore Fragonard (1732-1806). "Les Jets d'Eau," watercolor, lO1^" x IS1/*". From the Col-
lections Varanchon de Saint-Genies, Marquis de Lucay and Baron Leonino. Acquired by private
collection, Paris, 1936. (Present whereabouts unknown; looted during World War II.)
Plate 52
Maurice Quentin de La Tour (1704—1788). "Portrait de M. de Laideguive, Notaire," pastel, 1761,
36" x 30". From the William Tilden Blodgett Collection, New York. Acquired by Francisco Cambo,
Barcelona, 1927. Present collection: Museum of Art, Barcelona, Francisco Cambo Collection.
Plate 53
Jean-Honore Fragonard (1732-1806). "Portrait of Monsieur de la Breteche," 19"xl6y2". Exhib-
ited: Copenhagen, "L'Art francais au XVIIP Siecle," 1935, #75. San Francisco, "Golden Gate
International Exposition," 1939, #114. Bibliography: Rene Huyghe and Georges Grappe, L' Amour
de VArt, July, 1935. Louis Reau, Fragonard, 1956, p. 173, Plate 195. S. Rocheblave, French Paint-
ing in the 18th Century, 1937, Plate 53. Acquired by private collection, New York, 1947.
Plate 54
Hans Holbein, the Younger (1497-1543). "Portrait of Sir Henry Guildford," diameter
41/4". From the Eugene Pelletier Collection, Paris. Acquired by the Detroit Institute of
Arts, 1926.
Plate 55
Benvenuto Cellini (1500-1571). "Venus and Amor,
bronze, height 6". Acquired by August Lederer, Vi-
enna, c. 1927. (Present whereabouts unknown.)
Plate 58
French, c. 1480. "Portrait of a Monk in Prayer," 13&" x 9W. Acquired by Ernst Rosenfeld, New
York, 1930. Present collection: The Metropolitan Museum of Art, Fletcher Fund, 1937.
Andrefdel Verrocchio (1435-1488). "Alexander the Great," marble, 22Vf x 14W\ Acquired by
Herbert N. and Therese K. Straus, New York, 1927. Present collection: National Gallery or Art,
Washington, D.C. Gift of Therese K. Straus.
Plate 60
French (Burgundian), 15th century. "Virgin and Child," polychromed limestone, 4' 5"x3' 5W.
From the Convent of the Nuns of Sainte-Claire, Poligny. Acquired by the Metropolitan Museum of
Art, Rogers Fund, 1933.
Plate 61
Lucas Cranach, the Elder (1472-1553). "Portrait of Freiin von Schenck-Winterstein," 1528,
3B4" x 211/4". Acquired by Gifford Cochran, Lamoine, Maine, 1933. Present collection: Sir
Thomas Merton, Maidenhead Thicket, England.
Plate 62a
Pierre Bonnard (1867-1947). "La Palme," 1926,
Phillips Collection, Washington, D.C., 1928.
44"x571/2". Acquired by the
Plate 62b
Edouard Vuillard (1868-1940). "Femme Balayant dans un Interieur,"
c. 1892-1893, 18" x 19". Acquired by the Phillips Collection, Washington,
D.C., 1939.
Plate 63
Henri de Toulouse-Lautrec (1864-1901). "Jane Avril sortant du Moulin-
Rouge," 1892, 40" x 21a/2". Acquired by Samuel Courtauld, London, 1929.
Present collection: The Courtauld Institute, London. (Reproduced by cour-
tesy of the Home House Trustees.)
Plate 64a
Georges Seurat (1859-1891). "Study for 'La Parade,'" 6%" x 97/8A
Acquired by Emil Buhrle, Zurich, 1951.
• Ov';
a
P/flte 64b
Georges Seurat (1859-1891). "Le Phare de Honfleur," 1886, 26" x 32".
Acquired by private collection, London, 1933.
/. Pierpont Morgan
since, two of the most remarkable French stone sculptures in America.
Two sculptures bought the next year, 1908, a bronze bust of
Alfonso d'Avalos, Marchese del Vasto, by the 16th century Italian,
Leone Leoni, and an exquisite marble of Marietta Strozzi by Desi-
derio da Settignano, or perhaps Mino da Fiesole, remained at Mor-
gan's East 37th Street home. The Morgan house had already been
enlarged in 1906 by the addition of the handsome marble library
on the 36th Street side, for Morgan had never ceased to add to his
library, and the house was overflowing with illuminated manuscripts,
autographs, and rare books. It was a source of great satisfaction to
my father that he had helped acquire most of the works of art with
which Pierpont Morgan had chosen to surround himself in the new
den. Even after Morgan's death, when some of his possessions were
sold or given to various institutions and the building opened to the
public, certain early purchases remained in their places about the
shelves of this room, as they do today.
Until a short time ago, when it went to the Frick Collection, there
also stood at the entrance to the Morgan Library one of the rarest
treasures of the collection, the heavenly Ange du Lude. I had always
taken it for granted that this unique and delightful bronze, signed by
its maker, Jehan Barbet of Lyon, and dated March 28, 1475, had
passed through my father's hands. When the Morgan Library staff
so graciously undertook to verify the pedigrees of the various items
about which I needed confirmation, the scanty records about the
Angelot seemed to indicate that Morgan had bought it directly from
the Chateau du Lude, near Angers, where it had stood for many
years. This seemed odd to me, for it was not Morgan's way to buy
direct, but I could only assume that this was an exception. Quite by
accident, I found in the preface to the catalogue of the residue
of the Georges Hoentschel collection, sold in 1919 after the death of
that great collector, a reference by Arsene Alexandre to the acquisi-
tion of T Angelot adorable du Chateau du Lude as one of the great
triumphs of Hoentschel's collecting career. Alexandre says it left
France, after Hoentschel had had a moulage made and presented to
the Musee des Monuments Francais at the Trocadero. With this
clue, it was possible to discover in the records of Hoentschel pur-
chases made by Morgan, the date of acquisition, April, 1906. Still
there was no mention of Jacques Seligmann. Nevertheless, I feel cer-
tain that this most beguiling of Gothic angels came to America
71
MERCHANTS OF ART
through my father. For it was through him that Morgan acquired in
that same year the 18th century collection of Georges Hoentschel,
and through him, again, that the medieval objects were purchased
in 1911. Thus it seems logical to believe that it was also through
Jacques Seligmann that the sale of the Ange du Lude was negotiated.
However that may be, it is fact that in later years my father never
failed to comment upon the Angelot when we passed it in the Library
on our way to see Belle Greene, the Director. Since it is a lovely and
rare object, this in itself is not extraordinary. A fine work of art need
not have ever been his for him to admire it, but my own attachment
to the lovely bronze angel prompted me to try to re-establish the
facts. Whether my claim is fact or fancy, the beauty of this unique
reminder of medieval spiritual artistry remains great.
In spite of this impressive list, and it is only a sampling of objects
which came from my father in these early years, the most staggering
acquisitions of Morgan have not yet been mentioned. In 1910 he
purchased an unparalleled collection of Rouen faience, two hundred
and two pieces, which had been selected by the former director of
the Rouen Museum, Gaston LaBreton. From him, too, came three rare
14th century French marble figures probably representing Charles V,
Jeanne de Bourbon, and the Dauphin, later Charles VI. Later in that
year, as a result of my trip to St. Petersburg, Morgan acquired the
Byzantine enamels of the Swenigorodskoi collection, which Director
Edward Robinson described in the Metropolitan Bulletin in June of
1914 as "among the most extraordinary gatherings of Byzantine
enamels ever brought together." Originally there were forty- three
pieces, but in one of those charming gestures of which Morgan was
capable, two of the precious bits were given to the Louvre in Paris;
the remainder may be seen at the Metropolitan Museum today.
In 1911, my father secured for Morgan two more spectacular col-
lections— twenty-nine of the finest tapestries of the Renaissance from
Knole House in England, and, crowning the whole, the second half
of the Georges Hoentschel Collection. Georges Hoentschel was a
Parisian, a successful architect and decorator, whose passion for col-
lecting beautiful works of art was almost as great as Morgan's. I
remember well how he looked, as fastidious in his dress as he was in
his collecting, slender, so erect of carriage that he appeared taller
than his medium height — the epitome of what was then called the
"cavalry officer type." His architectural activities naturally included
72
7. Pierpont Morgan
an interest in woodwork, boiseries, and all the forms of French 18th
century decorative art, but with Hoentschel it was more than a pro-
fessional interest, it was also a hobby. He gradually assembled a
unique study collection which today at the Metropolitan Museum
serves as an encyclopedia of the technical skill, the ideals of propor-
tion, and the beauty of detail which artisans and artists achieved
under the direction of the great 18th century builders. It must always
be borne in mind that in 18th century France, architecture was the
dictator and that all artists, with the exception of the easel painters,
were submitted to the instruction of the architect to whom, as to the
conductor of a great orchestra, no detail was too small to be con-
sidered with careful measure. Thus, if we find today in the Hoentschel
Collection whole boiseries, along with them are the decorative
painted panels made especially to fit into them, the tapestries, and
the thousand and one small or large bits of exquisitely chiseled
ormolu especially designed to match as door knobs, hinges, or win-
dow catches. In 1906, Hoentschel sold this entire assembly of decora-
tive elements, stone and marble sculptures, furniture and bibelots, to
J. P. Morgan, through Jacques Seligmann. Morgan at once presented
it to the Metropolitan Museum.
If this collection is a criterion of the quality of Hoentschei's taste
and knowledge in one direction, it by no means conveys the full scope
of his interest. Following a general trend of his time, he had for
several years been withdrawing from this first love in favor of a new
mistress, the Medieval. While he had already acquired a few excep-
tional items, such as the Ange du Lude, it was the proceeds of the
Morgan sale which enabled him to enlarge his scope, quantitatively
and qualitatively. Thus, Pierpont Morgan, called with some justice,
a collector of collections which other men had labored to perfect, in
this case was accessory both before and after the fact, for he also
acquired the second Georges Hoentschel Collection, in two install-
ments, in 1911 and 1912.
This comment upon Morgan is by no means uncomplimentary.
The true amateur, which I believe Morgan to have been, despite sug-
gestions to the contrary by some of his biographers, looks first for
quality, but to him pedigree is also of importance, if for no other
reason than the historical continuity which is so much a part of the
aura surrounding works of art. Distinguished provenances, such as
those attached to many of the medieval enamels of the Hoentschel
73
MERCHANTS OF ART
collection, for instance, certainly do not add to their aesthetic worth,
but they are intensely interesting to the historian of taste. The ex-
tremely important 13th century chasse with vermiculate background
had once belonged to Lord Zouche; the beautiful 12th century ci-
borium came from the Braikenridge Collection; others were from
Chandon de Briailles, Stanislas Baron, and Sigismond Bardac.
In the final group acquired from Hoentschel in 1912 — the ivories,
the religious silver, and the sculptures — were objects which had come
from the most discriminating collectors of the late 19th and early
20th centuries. Guilhou, Boy, Charles Stein, Spitzer, Molinier, all are
names which appear and reappear like leitmotifs in the exhibition
catalogues of the time. At the height of the vogue for medieval works
of art, any one of these pieces was worth a king's ransom. When it
was rumored in the American press in January of 1912 that Jacques
Seligmann had bought this last group for Morgan, my father, in con-
firming the story a few days later, refused to name the price paid. He
did say that it was much more than the reported million francs, then
about two hundred thousand dollars, and that it was the finest col-
lection of early Limoges enamels and ivories in the world, containing
some pieces unequalled in the Louvre, Cluny, or any other museum.
But what was one man to do with as many works of art as Morgan
now owned? His New York home and the Library were full. There
were objects on loan to the Metropolitan and to the Morgan Memorial
of the Wadsworth Atheneum in Hartford. The rest were scattered
about the world — the section of the Oppenheim collection pur-
chased in 1906 immediately went on loan to the Victoria and Albert
Museum; other loans were made to the National Gallery of London;
his own house there, Prince's Gate, was overflowing, as was Dover
House in the country; and some objects were still stored with my
father.
Rumors and speculation naturally were rife. The American Art
News of December 25, 1909, in an item headed "Important if True,"
quoted a cable dispatch to the New York American from its Paris
correspondent: "Mr. J. P. Morgan means to bequeath to his country
a museum not second to the Louvre. Such is the gossip among the
antiquaries in Paris, London, and Rome. Napoleon the First plun-
dered Europe for art treasures to make the Louvre. Why should not
Morgan do likewise? The Seligmanns of Paris, the Agnews of London,
and the Imberts of Rome hold that he can and will."
74
J. Pierpont Morgan
In 1912 that same publication relayed another European rumor
that frequent and lengthy conversations held in Rome between Mor-
gan and one of the Rothschilds were for the purpose of founding an
art trust tending to control the prices of objects of art. Again gossip
had it that the whole Morgan collection would go to Hartford, as the
Metropolitan was too slow in arranging a wing to house it; but this
was thought to be only a goad to prod the city fathers into action in
appropriating the necessary funds.
The Morgan-Rothschild rumor was absurd on the face of it. The
other two, in spite of the somewhat waspish tone of the European
commentator, echoed what was more or less general opinion. Morgan
had been a generous donor to the Metropolitan since his first gift in
1897, adding new ones each year, and he had been its president for
almost a decade; but no one knew for sure what his intentions were.
One thing, however, seemed clear: the import tax which until 1909
was levied on works of art had weighed heavily against the chances
of Morgan bringing to the United States the vast bulk of his collection
which was still in Europe. For a good many years it had been hoped
that the Congress of the United States would alter the existing laws
to permit the entry of such items free of duty. My father often men-
tioned the topic and, with his crusading spirit, called to the attention
of influential men the duty's detrimental effect on American art and
education. How could museums be developed if collectors were to
be penalized by heavy import duties? And they were heavy. I have in
my files a copy of a 1906 invoice made out to an American collector,
which shows that on a total of some thirty thousand dollars, almost
seven thousand was for customs duty.
My father cited particularly the example of Pierpont Morgan. As
long as such laws were in force, he said, the Morgan collections would
remain in Europe, making it quite clear that they would not be sent
home until they could enter duty free. In later years my father used
to say that the new legislation finally passed by Congress was due to
the personal activities of Morgan and certain of his friends, among
them the brilliant Senator Elihu Root.
The Payne Bill was passed in 1909, and early in 1912 shipment of
a major part of the Morgan collections was begun from London and
Paris. Apparently it was still not definitely decided when and how
they would be shown or housed, for Morgan arranged for a customs
appraiser from the United States to go to London to inspect the boxes
75
MERCHANTS OF ART
as they were packed, so that they would not have to be opened on
arrival but could go directly to the third floor of the Metropolitan
Museum to be stored.
Jacques Seligmann was entrusted with the huge task of packing
and shipping the three hundred and fifty-one cases which arrived at
the Metropolitan Museum between February 15, 1912, and January
29, 1913. The London branch of the Seligmann Galleries under the
direction of Salomon Herz had as its chief activity the supervision of
the shipment and, more important, the preparations for shipment.
This, in view of the number of objects which had to be removed from
their various places and the care with which such objects had to be
packed, took months. Once begun, shipments went forward at the
rate of one or two a week.
The three hundred and fifty-one cases contained purchases from
all sources. The great Raphael Madonna, for instance, which occu-
pied an enormous case, did not come from my father; nor did the
magnificent Fragonard room which is now in the Frick Collection.
There is, in fact, a precise indication in the shipping lists that on
August 17, 1912, the fourteen Fragonard panels were shipped in four
cases, Numbers 167-170, with the handsome catalogue "arranged for
Mr. Morgan by Messrs. Agnew." Jacques Selgimann mentions them
in the interview quoted above as "one of the things which cost Mr.
Morgan the most ... (for which) ... I am sure that he can get
two or three times what he paid."
Despite the volume, none of these shipments contained manu-
scripts or rare books which formed a separate part of this truly fan-
tastic collection. Nor should it be forgotten that even after the re-
moval of these cases, there still remained at Prince's Gate enough
paintings and other fine objects to keep it a worthy place to receive
its owner and his distinguished guests.
Letters in the archives of the Metropolitan and items in the press
indicate the sequence of the shipments: "seven cases containing
items from the second part of the Hoentschel Collection"; "four cases
containing Sevres porcelain"; "five cases with the balance of the
Sevres" and "seven cases of Dresden porcelain"; a "case containing
snuffboxes and miniatures"; or "three cases with seven paintings."
Shipment No. 5 had been scheduled for the ill-fated SS Titanic on
April 27, 1912, and missed the sailing only because it was not ready in
time. Another case contained thirty-one tapestries, twenty-nine of
76
7. Pierpont Morgan
them from Knole House. It is not just the number which is impressive;
it is the realization of what was represented in rarity and quality. The
mere listing of cases is dry of romance but it does at least imply the
staggering proportions of this collection, assembled within a decade,
of the most refined creations made by hands of men over ten cen-
turies.
The last case was shipped on January 29, 1913. On March 31, John
Pierpont Morgan died in Rome after a brief illness. He was not to see
it all assembled at the museum to which he had given so much time
and devotion.
When Morgan's will was made public, it was found that the dis-
position of the collection had been left in the hands of his son, John
Pierpont Morgan, Jr. Its exhibition would be held in abeyance pend-
ing the formalities which attend the settlement of so vast an estate.
The official valuation of the collection made in 1916 was something
over twenty million dollars, but the figure of sixty million estimated
by The Times in London in 1913 was undoubtedly nearer the mark.
The Bulletin of the Metropolitan of June, 1913, announced that the
exhibition would be held as soon as it could be prepared, "in order
that the public . . . might see and enjoy the most famous col-
lection of works of art that has been brought together in our genera-
tion." Edward Robinson, the Director, estimated the aggregation at
more than 4,100 objects; of these, some 3,000 were eventually pre-
sented to the permanent collection of the Museum by J. P. Morgan,
Jr., in memory of his father.
These dry figures and facts do not do justice to John Pierpont Mor-
gan, the collector. His role as banker and financier, his part in the
history and the industrial development of his country are well estab-
lished. But the immensity of his vision, his capabilities for unselfish
and altruistic action, and, most of all, his sensitivity toward the aes-
thetic values of works of art have not been fully appreciated. As
Francis Henry Taylor wrote, "Pierpont Morgan was the greatest fig-
ure in the art world that America has yet produced, a visionary and
a patron such as we never knew before, nor ever shall again."
The devotion of Jacques Seligmann to this gigantic personality is
not hard to understand, and, in turn, no greater compliment can be
paid him than to have been over these important collecting years the
trusted advisor of J. Pierpont Morgan.
77
CHAPTER VIII
The United States, 1913
1
'n the autumn of 1913, most of Europe felt that war was
imminent. The Kaiser, on his way to the Middle East, had
reaffirmed his often expressed intention of seeing the Berlin-Baghdad
link established by the completion of that railroad. The "peaceful
penetration" of Morocco by the brothers Manessmann had already
started. The bellicose Agadir incident of 1911 was still strong in
memory. Moreover, the might of the German Imperial Navy was
offering an increasing challenge to the British. Nevertheless, I do not
believe that my father anticipated a real conflict, or if he did, he must
have been so sure of French strength that he felt the possibility need
not interfere with a project he had planned for some time, an ex-
tended journey throughout the eastern half of the United States.
Having just completed my first integration into the French army,
I now had my coveted second lieutenant's commission, an achieve-
ment which gave me a certain pardonable pride, as the standards of
even a reserve officer in the peacetime French army were high. I,
personally, did not share my father's equanimity about the future
and had already subscribed to a further few weeks of army training
for the following spring. There was no compulsion about this, but,
convinced as I was of the impending danger of war, I felt the neces-
sity of a better knowledge of the officers under whom I would serve
and the men I was to command. This further training was somewhat
against my father's wishes, as he was impatient to have me free. Al-
ready the firm's attorneys were drawing up the partnership agreement
of Jacques Seligmann et Fils. In spite of my father's apparent disre-
gard of the rumors of threatening war, he seemed to be constantly
harassed by a sense of little time to pass on to me his knowledge and
78
The United States, 1913
his experience. Every phase of my instruction and all my experiences
with the business world were now on double time. If the American
voyage was a holiday, with my stepmother and one of my sisters
accompanying us, it was also a part of my training.
I was excited and curious, eagerly anticipating my first views of
the new world about which I heard so much. As I wandered alone
about the streets of New York, lost in the hum of this fabulous bee-
hive, I felt insignificant and lonely amidst an almost menacing, un-
leashed power and might. Young as I was, I had an undefined im-
pression of boundless possibilities, of extremes reaching to climactic
heights of success and dismal depths of failure with few in-betweens.
The glory and brilliance of Fifth Avenue against the miserable de-
jection of Sixth Avenue under its rattling el; murkiness and poverty
next door to scented luxury.
My first impressions were brought back to me vividly some years
later when Marczell von Nemes, the well-known Hungarian collector
and amateur marchand, was on his own first trip to New York. Ad-
dressing me in German, he said, "New York is the first city I have
ever seen which measures up to my own importance." All newcomers
to New York, whether foreign or American, are gripped by the ex-
citement and exhilaration of the atmosphere, but surely few have
expressed it with such arrogant complacence.
As a consequence of the separation of Jacques and his brother
Arnold, a new gallery had been opened in New York that spring for
the firm of Jacques Seligmann & Company. A suitable property had
been chosen, the former E. H. Harriman house at 705 Fifth Avenue,
on the northeast corner of 55th Street, a bold step northward from
West 36th Street and a direction which many art firms were later to
follow. The manager and a partner of the new American firm was
Eugene Glaenzer, a well-known figure in the art world who had been
particularly active in the field of Barbizon paintings, then at the
height of their popularity. He had suitably inaugurated the new
galleries with an exhibition of "Portraits of Fair Women," an appro-
priate choice since it was a benefit for the cause of women's suffrage,
under the aegis of the Women's Political Union, with Mrs. Philip M.
Lydig as chairman.
Shortly after Glaenzer came into the firm, my father unwittingly
made him the victim of one of his typically unexpected and forthright
79
MERCHANTS OF ART
statements to the press. Jacques Seligmann, perhaps goaded by some
recent occurrence, had stated in a final interview as he left for Paris,
that he intended to install a room of fakes in the new 55th Street
house for the edification of the public. It was doubtless a spur of the
moment idea, but the press seized on it with joy and a headline
"Seligmann To Open Fake Picture Museum." When a reporter fol-
lowed my father to Monte Carlo where he was vacationing, he de-
clared, "I have definitely decided to open such a room in my New
York house ... it may make me enemies, but I hope to save col-
lectors from buying fakes as genuine." He emphasized, however, that
it would be objets d'art only, adding, "I am not a picture dealer."
Eugene Glaenzer naturally came in for considerable sarcasm from
his colleagues about managing a gallery of fakes. My father did make
the collection, buying a few pieces to add to his own "mistakes"
which he had always kept, but the war intervened before the room
was installed. Eventually he presented it to the museum at Cooper
Union Institute to be used for study purposes. It remained there until
recently when, having served their purpose, the objects were sold
and the proceeds used for the purchase of genuine ones which are
carried in the museum's records as gifts of Jacques Seligmann.
It was doubtless at the behest of Eugene Glaenzer that the Cooper
Union became the recipient of this somewhat peculiar, but extremely
useful gift. He was a friend and frequent guest of the Misses Eleanor
and Sarah Hewitt, descendants of the great Peter Cooper and trustees
of the Cooper Union. It was he who later introduced me to these
delightful elderly ladies who, in the years immediately following
World War I, maintained one of the few real salons, in the French
sense of the term, in New York.
The Misses Hewitt were truly captivating personalities. They still
lived in the old family house at 9 Lexington Avenue, next door to their
brother, Erskine, and, while thoroughly aware of the social changes
about them, chose to ignore them. One had the impression that all
clocks had stopped just before the turn of the century. For them, the
automobile had not yet been invented and their horse-drawn coupe
was possibly the last seen on the streets of New York. They patronized
such fashionable dressmakers as Worth or Paquin, but the sumptuous
materials of their gowns were still fashioned in the old modes, as
were their hats.
But what character it all had! The Hewitt house was one of the last
80
The United States, 1913
bastions of an older American aristocracy, where culture and manners
played a greater role than money, where the strictest standards were
maintained and apparently suffered no exceptions. Brought up as I
was in the old European manner, accustomed to calling and leaving
cards, I felt quite at home in this environment, a Victorian oasis in
the hustle and push of New York life. Here one was in the age of top
hats, morning coats, and striped trousers, and here certain topics of
conversation were taboo unless suitably enshrouded with wit and ele-
gance. Cocktails were unknown, one was offered sherry or port. Ex-
cellent wines were served with the meals, and the cuisine was refined
but without extravagance. Both ladies spoke flawless French and had
an impressive knowledge of French literature past and present,
though they were apt to be severe about the newer works if they
presented any vulgarity, a cardinal sin they could not condone. When
one of the Misses Hewitt said, "He ( or it ) is vulgar," that was tanta-
mount to dismissal.
Younger people, particularly, were severely measured for their
manners, and I was therefore especially careful to abide by their rit-
ual, a call at the beginning of the season, leaving cards if they were
not at home. Otherwise, I would not be eligible for a Sunday luncheon
invitation, when they entertained small groups of guests from their
social set of old New York families, visitors from Newport or Boston,
or foreigners of distinction. One season, having failed to call as early
as usual, I tried to make up for this dereliction by presenting myself
on their at-home day and was greeted with, "You have been detained
much longer than usual in Europe this year." It was at once a repri-
mand and a compliment, for it indicated that my absence had been
noted, but they were inclined to overlook and forgive it.
Particularly amusing to me was the complete disdain in which
these delightful ladies held newcomers in New York's constantly
changing society. The opera was still one of the great social bulwarks;
but a box did inevitably change hands from time to time. I com-
mented upon such a change to one of the Misses Hewitt, and men-
tioned a name which, in my ignorance, I thought was of their social
milieu. The answer was, "Mrs. A ? And who is she? I have
never heard of her." Evidently they were not on calling terms.
The chief outside interest of the Misses Hewitt was the Cooper
Union Institute, and when I met them they had only recently ac-
quired in Paris the celebrated Decloux library of rare books, prints,
81
MERCHANTS OF ART
and original drawings, all related to French decoration. This excep-
tional and precious collection, which they gave to the museum to-
gether with the lovely 18th century room in which it is kept, is a
mine of information for the student of decorative arts. I spent many
delightful hours perusing it, both at their home and at the Institute.
The dissolution of the old firm and the shipping of the Morgan
collection had kept my father in Europe for almost the entire year,
and he was now seeing the new galleries fully installed for the first
time. From his new office he immediately set about making the ap-
pointments with friends and clients which were to plunge us into a
frenzy of social and business activities.
One of our first calls was upon Belle da Costa Greene in the newly
built Morgan Library, still a private institution. Her fascinating per-
sonality made a lasting impression upon me, which the years strength-
ened rather than altered. She was young and slender, quick in her
movement, and already well established in the reputation for the mot
juste which has made her something of a legend in the art world. One
of her most important functions during Morgan's lifetime, in addition
to those usual to a librarian and curator, was to protect him from the
innumerable schemes designed to gain approach to the all-powerful,
the great spender. His eagerness to add great works of art to his col-
lection, regardless of cost, made it worthwhile to stoop to almost any
method to gain his ear, and it was Belle Greene's difficult and delicate
task to gauge quickly and correctly the quality of a caller before
reporting to Morgan.
One had only to see her in action to know with what agility and
firmness she met such problems. I am sure she realized that a laissez
faire policy would have been much simpler and safer for her own fu-
ture, as Morgan was impatient, but laissez faire was never Belle
Greene's way. Morgan had as absolute faith in her intuition and judg-
ment of men as he had in her remarkable instinct for and knowledge
of works of art. First appointed in 1905 as librarian, a specialist in
incunabula, manuscripts, and rare books, her province rapidly ex-
tended to other territories, until no field of aesthetic endeavor escaped
her intellectual grasp. She and my father had established a firm
friendship, based on mutual respect and a mutual devotion to the
same man. Their first meeting after Morgan's death the preceding
spring held sad memories for both of them.
82
The United States, 1913
Most of the people upon whom we called during my first New York
visit were collectors of knowledge and taste with whom my father
had long established friendships, based on a common love of works
of art, and with whom he wished me to become better acquainted.
With collectors of such standing, a home call offered an opportunity
for my father to comment, favorably or otherwise, about a new trend
in collecting, to give or to ask an opinion. For me, meeting these
American clients, some for the first time, seeing their homes and their
collections, was a continual education and delight, even though at
times these visits could be rather trying. I was in the ambiguous po-
sition of partaker and on-looker, endeavoring at once not to say the
wrong thing, and yet not to give my father's clients the impression
that I had a speech impediment or was stupid. I shall always remem-
ber gratefully Mrs. Collis P. Huntington for her quick sensitivity to
my predicament and her gracious manner of putting me at ease when
we called. Mrs. Huntington was an interested collector of 18th cen-
tury French objets d'art, and although her conversation was with my
father, she somehow managed to convey that I was included in the
deference she showed the visiting expert. When we were about to
leave, she insisted that I come again, without my father, to take a cup
of tea with her and see at leisure the collection in the big 57th Street
house.
George Blumenthal, the dynamic American partner of the French
banking house of Lazard Freres, was an old school friend of my
fathers'; they were born in Frankfort in the same year. He was still
living then on West 53rd Street and there is little to say about his
collection at that time, except that it contained excellent examples of
Barbizon painting, his first collecting love, for he was only beginning
the important role he was to play in American art circles.
Of greater moment then were the activities of his attractive, ele-
gant, and cultivated wife, Florence, who was not only endowed with
a refined taste, but had a true student's approach to art. She had been
much impressed with the house of Mrs. Jack Gardner in Boston and
realized the possibilities such a program of construction offered if a
greater orthodoxy were observed in the architecture itself and in the
decoration of the individual rooms. She had therefore set about
assembling the essential elements around which her house, and each
of its rooms, would be built. It was a grandiose scheme, the like of
which had never before been undertaken in such completeness.
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MERCHANTS OF ART
Every capital work of art was to be chosen before the actual building
began, if it were to have a fundamental role in the architecture, so
that it would fit ideally into the place planned for it both in physical
proportion and in relation to the aesthetic scheme. The nucleus about
which the house-to-be was planned, had just been purchased from
my father — a galleried Spanish Renaissance patio, two stories in
height and entirely of marble. It had been originally in the palace of
Don Pedro Fajardo, the first Marquis of Velez, at Velez Blanco, and
dated between 1506 and 1515. Around it would be grouped the re-
ception rooms of the ground and second floors. Naturally, much of
the talk on this visit had to do with this absorbing subject.
Henry Walters, to whom my father was particularly devoted, also
was on our calling list, but I gained little knowledge of his collection
on this trip, since his New York apartment was then only a pied-a-
terre in a small 42nd Street hotel. He kept few works of art there, and
we did not go to his Baltimore home.
One of the most interesting characters we saw was George Kessler,
the champagne king. He was the American representative of a well-
known French champagne firm, and from early morning he drank,
and offered to his guests, champagne frappe in handsome silver or
gold urns. I never learned whether this was really an acquired taste
or simply a business routine. He spent much time in Paris, and his
wife became a devoted Francophile whose indefatigable activities in
war relief won her the gratitude of the French. It was she who
founded the Permanent Blind Relief War Fund which supported a
hostel for blinded officers and soldiers in the Chateau de Madrid, and
an industrial school for the blind. She personally financed the in-
dustrial school throughout the war, and my father, at her solicitation,
took over the rent of the hostel.
Thanks to my father's educational efforts, Kessler had embarked
on a collecting career, and, at the time of our visit to New York, he
was busy embellishing a recently purchased house at Auteuil. That
he derived a very real enjoyment from his acquisitions was patent,
and he seemed genuinely grateful to my father for having awakened
this new interest. One of the dividends which accrue to an art dealer
who truly loves his metier is to watch a casual whim grow into a real
appreciation.
One day we went to Philadelphia to lunch with Joseph Widener
in his home at Elkins Park, by far the most palatial American estab-
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The United States, 1913
lishment I had yet seen. Widener was about to purchase from my
father four well-known stone groups, The Seasons, by Claude Gillet,
to be placed in the garden which the French landscape architect,
Jacques Greber, was designing, and their placement was discussed.
They had been made originally for the Chateau de Valenton of
Madame de Pompadour; now they were to adorn a garden in the
new world.
Impressive though the house was, the collection itself had not yet
achieved its full splendor, and it still contained certain paintings,
among them English portraits, which were later sold or exchanged.
The great Donatello statue was already at the far end of the long
gallery, but the magnificent Feast of the Gods by Bellini and the
stupendous Rembrandts were still to come.
I had met Thomas Fortune Ryan in Paris a few months before our
1913 trip to America, when he was sitting for his portrait by Sorolla.
My father had given Sorolla the hospitality of Sagan, possibly at the
request of another American patron, Archer Huntington, a great ad-
mirer of the Spanish painter. Sorolla occupied a studio at Sagan for
several months, during which time he also painted the portrait of
Jacques Seligmann which appears as frontispiece to this book. The
original is still in the rue de Constantine house in Paris, now occupied
by my brother. I liked Ryan at once, for under the rather forbidding
outward aspect of the tobacco magnate there lay a delightful sense
of humor and a deep humanity. He owned a fine collection of Medi-
eval and Renaissance objects, housed in a long gallery on the top
floor of his Fifth Avenue home, but on this visit, I was especially
anxious to see the Rodin sculptures about which he had talked in
Paris. Rodin was much in vogue in those days, but Ryan's collection,
like that of Mrs. John W. Simpson, belonged to the late period of the
great French sculptor's work, which is today considered less signifi-
cant to modern art.
Jules Bache in this winter of 1913-1914 had not yet attained the
financial peak he was later to achieve. His friends, in future years,
talked of Jules Bache, B.C., and Jules Bache, A.C., Before Chrysler
and After Chrysler. Whether a great part of his fortune actually came
through a transaction in Chrysler Motors is of no great moment here
except that it may explain the quickened tempo of his collecting after
that date. At any rate, when we called upon him, he was still living
on East 67th Street and had not yet moved to the Fifth Avenue man-
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MERCHANTS OF ART
sion where his collection was shown for so many years before it finally
went to the Metropolitan. However, he already owned the charming
Billet Doux of Fragonard, which I had known and loved through re-
productions, and I was moved to see the original painting.
Our call was something in the nature of a peace mission, for my
father and Jules Bache had been on rather cool terms for a while be-
cause of Jacques Seligmann's plain-spoken opinion about what he
considered a mistaken purchase by Bache. My father never hesitated
to speak his mind if he felt it his duty, even though his frankness might
alienate a client. However, he and Jules Bache had known and es-
teemed one another over a period of many years, so that the rift was
healed, and a few days after our call, Bache asked us both to lunch
with him downtown.
My acquaintaince with William Randolph Hearst also dates from
this trip. Though he and my father had known each other for several
years, and Jacques Seligmann had secured for Hearst several of his
quality items, here, too, there had arisen a certain coolness, probably
for the same reason. My father was in some doubt as to whether
Hearst would see him, but evidently all was forgiven, because our
whole party was invited to dine at his penthouse on Riverside Drive.
I remember well how Hearst looked at that time — very tall, still quite
slender, long of arm, and with an impassive face in which only the
handsome eyes seemed to move. Though he had not yet reached the
fame he was to achieve, if one should judge the success of a man, as
some cynic has said, by the number and quality of his enemies,
William Randolph Hearst was already well on his way.
My most vivid recollections of that visit are the height of the ceiling
in the great apartment, the magnificent early tapestries, and the
superb group of Hispano-Moresque earthenware of the 15th and
early 16th centuries. This was a field in which my father was a con-
noisseur, and he was happy to see again, beautifully shown in glass
cases, the chamois-and-blue plates and the rare alberelli which had
been acquired from him. I dare say Hearst's collection in that field
was the most important outside Spain. Next to these works of art,
rather austere in their severity of design, was a large collection of
German silver of the late 16th and early 17th centuries, over-ornate,
and of little interest to my father. These two contrasting groups were
the collector's great pride.
In later years I saw Hearst frequently. He went regularly each
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The United States, 1913
summer for several years to Bad Neuheim to take the cure, and that
was one of the best opportunities to approach him. Even there art
dealers from all Europe were constantly in attendance, and it was
always a question as to who would get his ear at the right moment.
The buying methods of this dynamic personality were very strange;
nobody I have known showed simultaneously such a voracious desire
to acquire and so little discrimination in doing it. Hearst often pur-
chased superb examples of real aesthetic merit, but he also acquired
hundreds of items of no artistic or historic interest. There was a
legend — or was it fact? — that his mother had left him a specific fund,
the interest of which had to be spent yearly on works of art. This, if
true, might account for some of his otherwise inexplicable eccentric-
ities.
Contrary to the majority of men of business acumen, Hearst loved
to dicker, a practice of dubious value in the art world, leading rather
to bargaining than to bargains. Thus, through the years I did business
with William Randolph Hearst, I never derived from it the true en-
joyment I felt with his great contemporaries. An art dealer's pride
and satisfaction is not entirely measured by the total amount of
money a client spends; it is measured also by the quality and the ex-
ceptional character of the works of art chosen. The dealer wishes to
feel himself a guide and mentor, and, because he recommends and
encourages the purchase of an object he considers fitting, he is will-
ing to assume a special moral responsibility. But when, contrary to
the dealer's better judgment, the client purchases less fitting items,
the art dealer loses interest in the client. It becomes then, purely a
business transaction, devoid of the human ties which connect the true
collector and the art dealer who enjoys his profession. Financially
our relations with Hearst were satisfactory, but we derived little
pride from his acquisitions of a more or less decorative nature. Too
often they were the leavings of a collection we had bought up in toto
for the sake of a few fine pieces.
Ironically enough, it was through Hearst that I sold one of the most
regal marble statues of the French Renaissance that the firm has ever
owned. He had introduced me to A. J. Kobler, an editor of one of the
Hearst magazines, and it was he who bought the lovely Saint Barbara.
The Saint, a little under life size, is represented in full length, hold-
ing a chalice in her left hand; the rich material of her dress delicately
moulds her youthful figure, and her long wavy hair falls over her
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MERCHANTS OF ART
shoulders and down her back; her bearing has all the elegance and
refinement which typifies the Renaissance period in France. In addi-
tion, the warm, mellow patina, close to ivory, which the ages have
added to the usual coldness of marble, imbues the very material with
a sense of life.
Who was the sculptor, the Pygmalion — for one does not fashion
such a work of art without falling in love with the model or the
achievement — who created it? Unfortunately, as is so often the case
with sculptors of the earlier periods, he remains without a name.
Opinion leans toward someone from that group of artists who worked
at the Church of Brou near Bourg, in France, and who built the tombs
of Marguerite d'Autriche and Philibert le Beau in that lovely shrine
of elegant figures and marble lace. The only other creation of a like
splendor that I know — the one always reminds me of the other — is
the Certosa of Pavia. The two, Pavia and Brou, are among the few
architectural jewels left to us from a period which created so many.
Our New York stay was a continual round of entertainment. We
went to luncheons, teas ( the cocktail hour was not yet born ) , dinners,
the theater, the opera. Hospitality was so spontaneous and generous
as to be quite strange and altogether delightful to Europeans who,
hemmed in by reticences and a certain amount of xenophobia, could
not conceive this kind of easy-going, full-hearted gesture to foreign
guests.
It must be admitted that we were definitely in need of a few days'
breather in Montreal and Quebec when we left New York to begin
our tour of the Middle West. Our time in Canada was largely devoted
to sightseeing, but we did make one business call, to see Sir William
Van Home whom my father had recently met. Sir William was Presi-
dent and Chairman of the Board of the Canadian Pacific Railroad,
and his knighthood was in recognition of the days of his general
managership when that great road was pushed to its completion.
Now well along in years, he had turned to collecting and had assem-
bled one of Canada's outstanding private galleries.
Thence we made our way through snowbound Canada on to Chi-
cago and the Blackstone, at that time the city's most modern hotel.
From our windows we could see the open railroad tracks along the as-
yet-unbeautified lake front and the Chicago Art Institute, sitting
practically astride the tracks. Coming from New York, with our eyes
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The United States, 1913
still dazzled by the brilliance of the Morgan Collection, then being
installed for exhibition at the Metropolitan, our first impression of
the Art Institute, the museum of the second largest city in the United
States, was by comparison a dreary one. But this was 1914; the Hutch-
inson, Ryerson, Bartlett, Deering, Palmer, Worcester, and Coburn
collections which were to make the Institute a mecca for students
from all over the country, particularly for French 19th century paint-
ing, were not yet at the museum. What a change has been wrought
there in forty years.
There were, however, collectors aplenty in Chicago, some with the
daring to acquire paintings by the little-considered Impressionists
and Post-Impressionists at a time when they sold for what today
seems a song. Mrs. Lewis L. Coburn, for instance, was then living at
the Blackstone, and we saw upon her walls paintings which now are
key pieces in the Institute's collection. The Deerings, whom my fa-
ther knew well, were, unfortunately for us, wintering in Florida, but
we saw Mrs. Blackstone's collection of Chinese porcelains, and we
called on the Potter Palmers, the McCormicks, and the Armours,
whose homes were mostly still on Prairie Avenue, then the milieu of
the wealthy.
Miss Kate Buckingham was one of the last to move from this
stronghold of Chicago society, but our acquaintance with her dates
from the 1920's when she was beginning the great Gothic Hall in the
Art Institute which bears her name. Impressed by the personality
and accomplishments of Florence Blumenthal, it was under her guid-
ance that Miss Buckingham started the project, and it was, I believe,
due to the untimely death of Mrs. Blumenthal that the scheme did
not progress along the lines originally planned. Several objects des-
tined for this hall were acquired from my father, one of the most
precious being a rare early French tapestry representing two delight-
ful huntresses, a hawker and other attendants, against a mille fleurs
background.
To our French eyes, this sprawling, gusty city of Chicago held a
fascination all its own, and aside from our more aesthetic pursuits,
we took in such utilitarian projects as Ogden Armour's packing plant
and the Sears Roebuck mail-order house, both American industrial
phenomena which amazed us.
We made a side trip to Toledo to call upon John N. Willys, the
automobile manufacturer, then proceeded to St. Louis, the western-
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MERCHANTS OF ART
most point of our journey, and returned to New York by way of Cin-
cinnati and Pittsburgh. Looking back on it today, I realize what an
unusual opportunity I was given. Even now, with travel so swift and
easy, there are few foreigners who see as much of the country on a
first visit.
In Cincinnati, the Charles P. Tafts were still living in the gracious
and beautiful early Federal house which is now the Taft Museum,
far too little known and appreciated. Mr. Taft had acquired a number
of his excellent enamels from my father, and it was a pleasure to us to
see them in their new setting and a real delight to take tea with these
hospitable people so representative of American tradition and refine-
ment.
Though Jacques Seligmann was excited by the driving power and
industry of these midwestern cities and the dynamic men who were
building them, he often referred to the trip as a pure waste of time
for an art connoisseur. My own impressions and reactions were then
too numerous and varied to be crystallized. Today, I consider myself
fortunate indeed to have witnessed the first steps of the infant Amer-
ican museum world. In terms of years, it represents half a century,
a rather frightening span in a human lifetime, but how infinitesimal
a measure for a country and its culture. Particularly does it seem short
when one looks at the museums, today filled with distinguished works
of art, then often bare of really worthy objects to fill the handsome
buildings. It was this condition which provoked my father to ask the
reporters who interviewed him in Buffalo if it would not have been
better to buy works of art with the money lavished on the building
of the Albright Gallery, even if these masterpieces must be housed
elsewhere temporarily, rather than to have so fine a shell with nothing
in it.
This did not, I am afraid endear Jacques Seligmann to Buffalo, but
it did represent the point of view of a European, conditioned to find-
ing great treasures in the humblest surroundings. Squandering money
on buildings without objects to fill them, was a neuralgic point with
Jacques Seligmann, and many were the arguments he had on the
subject, for he was a born campaigner and the more difficult the
cause, the more vehement he was. Perhaps he was right fundamen-
tally, but he failed to make the necessary allowance for the youth of
the country, the temper of the swiftly growing young cities, and the
American "bigger and better" psychology. A magnificent building
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The United States, 1913
was a symbol of importance and strength, with the value of the con-
tents judged in terms of the container. Such buildings served their
purpose as an incentive to a local collector to bequeath his works of
art and his fortune to the native museum.
Andrew Carnegie understood the strategy of the empty building
which, as Stewart H. Holbrook relates in his Age of the Moguls, he
often referred to as bribes to tempt the city fathers to do their duty.
Many a collection has been lost in later years because a would-be
donor's city was too parsimonious to house his works of art fittingly
and safely.
Thomas Fortune Ryan once said to me in the course of a conversa-
tion much later in which I had evidently made some unconsidered
remark about American mores: "Don't try to reform America, you
have to take it as it is, with all its defects; but think of the qualities
which make up for them!"
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CHAPTER IX
The Wallace-Bagatelle Collection
When it was announced, shortly after our return from
the United States in the early spring of 1914, that
Jacques Seligmann had purchased a marble bust by Jean-Antoine
Houdon, representing the 18th century tragedienne, Sophie Arnould,
from the Paris collection of the late Sir Richard Wallace, it created
something of a sensation in the art world. Rumors about the fate of
the collection had been rife for more than two years; here at last was
something definite. An American art journal reported that Mr. Selig-
mann had confirmed his purchase of the Houdon, but denied that he
was taking any steps toward the acquisition of the rest of the collec-
tion. Yes, the interview quoted him, it was true that the Wallace Col-
lection was valued at around two million dollars; no, he knew nothing
of the rumor that it was to go to Widener. My father must have had
a lot of fun with that interview. It was strictly true that he was taking
no steps toward the purchase of the rest of the Wallace Collection
from the Chateau of Bagatelle. He already owned it.
The transaction, which he closed before we left for the United
States, remains unique in the history of art dealing. It is the only in-
stance I know of a dealer taking the tremendous gamble of paying
nearly two million dollars, in cash, for a collection which he had never
seen and for which there existed no catalogue, no expertise, nor even
an adequate inventory!
Considered in the light of the history of the Wallace-Bagatelle Col-
lection and its founders, this spectacular gamble seems a fitting final
episode to a story of strange legend and stranger fact. Involved in it
are great names of England and of France, names which made head-
lines for daily papers and gossip for contemporary tongues. An aura
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The Wallace-Bagatelle Collection
of mystery and strangeness seemed to enshroud the actions of almost
everyone connected with the Wallace Collection. The men who made
it and the persons who inherited it were pronounced individuals with
driving personalities. Jacques Seligmann himself was by no means
the least of these, and the circumstances under which the sale was
made were strictly within the tradition.
The Chateau de Bagatelle had its origins in the 18th century. It
was charmingly situated near the banks of the Seine in the Bois de
Boulogne, once the property of Madame la Marechale d'Estrees, a
grande dame of the court of the Regent, who built a house there in
1720. Just across the river there already existed another small pavilion
belonging to the Due d'Orleans which was called Brimborion, a trifle,
and thus it seemed quite natural to call the new house a bagatelle.
Located as it was on the road to Versailles and not far from the Cha-
teau de La Muette where Louis XV was to find considerable charm,
Bagatelle became a convenient halt in the restless movement of the
court and one reads of the brilliant receptions the Marechale gave
there for the Regent and later for the young and dashing Louis XV.
In 1756 the property passed to the Marquise de Monconseil, and
from 1770 to 1775 was owned by the Prince and Princesse de Chimay.
All of them entertained lavishly for kings and court with plays, lunch-
eons, and supper parties. One such occasion was a fete honoring the
father-in-law of Louis XV, King Stanislas of Poland.
In 1775 the estate took the fancy of the younger brother of Louis
XVI, the Comte d'Artois, later to reign briefly as Charles X. He was a
profligate young man with no consideration for popular feelings or
public funds and, in true princely fashion, decided to do away with
the now somewhat shabby old house, and build another more in
keeping with his exalted position. Francois-Joseph Belanger was
designated architect, and Thomas Blaikie was called from England
especially to landscape the grounds in the new vogue of the so-called
English garden, a change involving major rearrangements of natural
contours to accommodate the intricate paths, grottos, miniature rivers,
and waterfalls. Such small, intimate houses, exquisite in every detail,
served as weekend hideaways or hunting lodges for Paris society and
were commonly called by the often-not-inappropriate name of folie.
Bagatelle quickly became known as the Folie d'Artois. Even in the
Comte's time, however, the original name was not forgotten.
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MERCHANTS OF ART
Teased by his sister-in-law, Marie Antoinette, about the slow pro-
gress which his new folie was making, d'Artois is said to have made a
wager with her that the new house would be ready to receive her en
fete when the court returned to Versailles from its annual trek to
Fontainebleau, just sixty-four days hence. And this master stroke was
achieved in a grandiose manner. Contemporary accounts tell us that
nine hundred workmen were employed night and day, and that scarce
materials were commandeered on the roads without regard for their
true destinations.
The wager between the Queen and the Comte, we are told, was for
a stake of 100,000 francs, but the first accounting of the cost of the folie
showed an expense of 600,000 francs, before interior decorations,
furniture, and works of art. It is difficult to express 18th century values
in modern terms, but there can be little doubt that this represented
more than a million dollars. When d'Artois received the congratula-
tions of the Queen, and presumably the hundred thousand francs, he
is supposed to have replied, "Ce n'est rien qu'une bagatelle."
In 1789, at the outset of the Revolution, d'Artois was one of the
first to emigrate, and twenty-five years were to pass before he again
saw Bagatelle. The Revolution of 1830 once more upset the owner-
ship, and it is with the advent of the Orleans branch that we approach
the final royal relinquishment of the chateau. Louis-Philippe, a con-
stitutional king who had to keep his private expenses separate from
the nation's budget, and was thus less profligate, decided to sell the
folie. In September, 1835, it was purchased by an Englishman, Rich-
ard Seymour, Lord Yarmouth, later to be the Fourth Marquess of
Hertford. Lord Yarmouth, like his father, the Third Marquess of
Hertford, was a great collector, a lover of works of art, and an ex-
tremely wealthy man. He was also, with other members of his fa-
mous family, a Francophile who spent most of his time in Paris, where
he already owned a townhouse in the rue Laffitte, then a particularly
brilliant residential section.
Yarmouth immediately began to restore Bagatelle to its original
beauty and to furnish it in keeping with its style and his own predilec-
tion for the French 18th century. Once finished, and its name re-
stored, Bagatelle again became the scene of royal entertainment, for
Yarmouth numbered among his close friends the Emperor Napoleon
III and his wife, the Empress Eugenie. It was in the pare of Bagatelle
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The Wallace-Bagatelle Collection
that the Prince Imperial received his first riding lessons, in a ring
especially built for his use.
In 1842, Lord Yarmouth succeeded to the title and fortune of his
father. That same year, a young man known to all familiars of the
household as "Monsieur Richard," legally changed his name from
Richard Jackson to Richard Wallace. Exactly who he was remains
uncertain. Some claimed him to be the son of the Third Marchioness,
whom he always called "Tante Mie Mie," and thus the half-brother
of the new Lord Hertford. Others believed them to be father and son,
though Lord Hertford referred to Wallace only as "a dear friend."
Later historians say that Wallace was actually the son of the Fourth
Marquess and one Agnes Jackson whose family name was Wallace.
Whatever the relationship, the two men were strongly alike in taste,
manner, and political tendencies, as well as in their love for France
and for works of art. Exquisite taste and refinement were exhibited
by Richard Wallace in the purchases he made with and for Lord
Hertford as they added further sumptuous works of art to the collec-
tion. The few existing documents lead one to wonder whether Rich-
ard Wallace may not have become a greater collector than his
benefactor. It is quite conceivable that the later acquisitions of the
Wallace Collection, as it is today at Hertford House in London and
as it was at Bagatelle and rue Laffitte, were actually made by
Richard Wallace rather than by Lord Hertford, as has been gener-
ally believed — perhaps a rather academic question, but puzzling to
art historians.
By the end of the 1860's the political fortunes of France were
rapidly deteriorating. The weak and sick Emperor, lost in dreams
dominated by the memory of his majestic uncle, Napoleon I, ill-
advised by court flatterers, and misled by his military chiefs, fell
headlong into the trap of Bismarck, the Franco-Prussian War. Lord
Hertford, old, ailing, and disheartened by this blow to his beloved
France, passed away in August of 1870.
Richard Wallace was revealed as his heir.
Devoted to France as had been his benefactor, Wallace remained
there throughout the war, helping with every means in his power to
alleviate the sufferings which followed in its wake — the siege of Paris
and the bloody Commune during which so many great monuments,
spared by the Revolution of 1789, became a prey to fire and looting.
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MERCHANTS OF ART
He organized and financed three ambulance corps, founded and en-
dowed the Hertford British Hospital, and spent vast sums to aid the
besieged. Later he installed the hundred drinking fountains "for man
and beast" still known as "Wallaces" to Parisians.
In recognition of his many benefactions, Richard Wallace was
made a Commander of the Legion of Honor in France and knighted
by Queen Victoria. Lady Wallace, however, was never received at
Her Majesty's court; Sir Richard did not marry her until after the
death of Lord Hertford, though she had already borne him a son.
She lived quietly at Hertford House, while Sir Richard divided his
time between London and Paris.
The situation in France had driven Richard Wallace to ship a
large portion of his French collection to England, where many of its
objects were included in the great Bethnal Green exhibition of 1872,
while the London home, Hertford House, was being readied for it.
As might be expected with so celebrated a collection there was
much speculation as to the intentions of Sir Richard regarding its
final disposition. His English friends believed that he would leave it
to England, while his French intimates asserted that he had often
expressed his intention of giving it to the city of Paris. He did neither.
When Sir Richard died in 1890, his entire estate, with the exception
of a few specific legacies, was left to his widow. When Lady Wallace
herself died in 1897, it was her will which left the art contents of
Hertford House to the British nation. The will also brought another
stranger into the Hertford- Wallace story: John Murray Scott, to
whom she bequeathed, except for minor bequests, the entire residue
of this incredible estate, including the Chateau de Bagatelle.
If a link of consanguinity existed between Hertford and Wallace
there was no such tie to explain the fabulously generous gesture to
Scott. John Murray Scott was the son of a Scottish doctor living in
Boulogne who had attended Lord Hertford. The charming manners
and brilliant qualities of the young man had apparently attracted
Hertford and Wallace, who employed him as their secretary. He
gradually rose from this post to one of confidence and high trust,
becoming finally the indispensable friend and man of affairs. It is
said that Lady Wallace, after Sir Richard's death, relied upon Scott
for everything and that it was on his insistence that the London por-
tion of the Wallace Collection went to the nation, rather than to Scott
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The Wallace-Bagatelle Collection
himself, as she had wished. The evidence seems to indicate that in
this she was also carrying out the wishes of Sir Richard.
The Wallace estate included numerous castles and houses in Eng-
land, but it was mainly in Paris, at Bagatelle and the rue Laffitte
house, that John Murray Scott chose to spend his time. Perhaps no
better picture of the man himself, his gigantic physical stature, his
general culture, and his mode of living, can be found than the vivid
one presented by Miss Vita Sackville-West in her charming book,
Pepita. However, many of the incidents related occurred during the
most impressionable years of the author's childhood and early youth,
in truly exceptional surroundings, and the praise lavished upon Scott
by her mother may well have qualified Miss West's objectivity. Fur-
thermore, as the only child of Lady Sackville, whom Scott so deeply
cherished, her account may also be colored by his role of bachelor
uncle who enjoyed spoiling a young girl.
Despite the fact that Sir John (he, too, was knighted by Victoria)
became a Trustee of Hertford House and was a man of taste, greatly
interested in art, we have no indication that he added anything of
importance to the Wallace Collections. Some might ask what he
could add to so rich an endowment, but a true collector and amateur
ceases to be one only on his deathbed!
As the 20th century opened, the work of embellishing Paris, started
by Baron Haussmann under Napoleon III, was again under way.
Among the plans were the amenagements of the Bois de Boulogne
and the western part of the city, then developing fast, so that the very
existence of Bagatelle as a private residence was threatened. Did Sir
John realize that Bagatelle might be expropriated or was it simply
that old age and other cares made it seem wiser to part with the
property? In any case, in 1904, he sold this historic chateau to the city
of Paris and moved its contents to the rue LafBtte house.
Quite wisely, however, since they would have been considered an
inherent part of the property, he first sold at auction the statues which
ornamented the gardens and the facade of the house. Many of them
were marbles of large size and there would have been no room for
them in the house on the rue Laffitte, already bursting with the con-
tents of Bagatelle added to its own sumptuous furnishings. Thus the
sculptures outside the house had already been disposed of before
Jacques Seligmann came into the picture. It was then that the
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MERCHANTS OF ART
Baigneuse of Houdon, now in the Metropolitan Museum, was sold
to Benjamin Altman.
Sir John also inherited vast groups of works of art in England,
specifically, as listed by Robert Cecil in the Burlington Magazine of
June, 1950, "The estates and contents of Sudbourne House ... Sir
Richard's Irish estate . . . such works of art . . . at Hertford House
as were not bequeathed to the nation under Lady Wallace's will . . .
and it is known that his ( Sir John's ) own London house was full of
works of art inherited from Lady Wallace." Thus, "Wallace Collec-
tion" in a provenance does not necessarily mean that the object was
formerly at Bagatelle or that it was part of the acquisitions of Jacques
Seligmann. His purchase was simply, if simply can be used in this
connection, that part of the collection which was in the rue Laffitte
house at Sir John's death in 1912.
His death added one more curious chapter to the saga of Bagatelle
and created a stir which my generation has not forgotten. Lady Sack-
ville, wife of the Third Baron Sackville of Knole, was willed the sum
of 150,000 pounds and the entire contents of the house on rue Laffitte.
Although Sir John left the bulk of his estate, amounting to well over a
million pounds, to his brother and his two sisters, they nevertheless
contested the bequest to Lady Sackville, on the grounds of "undue
influence," and the ensuing trial became a cause celebre. In 1913,
after memorable days spent in court fighting the case, Lady Sackville
emerged victorious, the sole owner of the Paris portion of the Wallace
Collection.
It is impossible to give in a few words a description of this beautiful
and high-spirited lady, whose own life was so colorful and romantic,
and I leave this to her daughter, Miss Vita Sackville- West, whose
book Pepita is vivid and charming. I would give a great deal, how-
ever, to have been present at the various interviews which took place
between Lady Sackville and my father, for it is now that Jacques
Seligmann steps into the story. The meetings of two such determined
individuals, of pronounced personality, must certainly have had their
own special flavor.
Actually, they had met a few years earlier when my father had
arranged the sale of the twenty-nine Knole House tapestries to J. Pier-
pont Morgan. Just when Jacques Seligmann first approached her, or,
perhaps, she approached him, about the sale of her French holdings,
I am not sure. I do know that it was well before the settlement of the
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The Wallace-Bagatelle Collection
lawsuit. Lady Sackville was not averse to selling. She was extravagant
by nature and perhaps the heavy expenses of an earlier legal battle
over the succession of her husband to the Sackville title, the death
duties, and the upkeep of Knole House, made the prospect of a large
sum of ready money a welcome one. Obviously, however, she could
take no definite steps until the suit was settled. Furthermore, the
house on the rue LafBtte was under legal seal, and the objects it
contained could not even be seen. Nevertheless, Jacques Seligmann
entered into a legal covenant with Lady Sackville whereby, should
she win the suit, he would become the sole and absolute owner of
the entire French collection of Sir Richard Wallace at an agreed price.
Because of the loss of the firm's Paris records during the recent war,
I cannot state the exact amount involved, but my recollection is of a
figure slightly under two million dollars. I should like to emphasize
that in accordance with my father's invariable practice, this sum was
paid in cash, from his own funds, without recourse to loans or to
mortgages. Miss Sackville-West states in Pepita that her mother re-
ceived 270,000 pounds, which accords well enough if one takes into
consideration deductions necessarily made for attorney's fees, in-
ventory costs and other expenses. The New York Times front-page
story of the purchase used the figure of $1,400,000.
At this point one must marvel at the courage and instinct of Jacques
Seligmann, for he had never seen the collection. With its history and
all that has been written of the Wallace-Bagatelle Collection, it would
be natural to assume that all the world was familiar with the contents
of Bagatelle and of the rue LafBtte house, but such an assumption
would be erroneous. These were private houses, open only to friends
of the families who lived in them. Thus as a basis for making his offer,
colossal even for a man used to deals of magnitude, Jacques Selig-
mann had only three indications.
The first was knowledge of a few objects which Wallace had lent
during his lifetime to certain important public exhibitions in Paris,
and he may have read two articles on the contents of Scott's rue
LafBtte house which had appeared in the English magazine Con-
noisseur in 1910 and 1911. The second was a manuscript list on which
there was no description whatsoever, simply the barest indication,
often insufficient to identify the items even after we had seen them,
and useful only to check them by number and to help in a process of
elimination. My father, perusing the list, tried to identify the items
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MERCHANTS OF ART
he knew, but ran into such laconic lines as "a marble statuette,"
which he surmised might be the Cupid of Bouchardon, or "marble
figure of a woman," which might mean the Lemoyne portrait of
Madame de Pompadour, or "portrait of a young woman with head-
dress," possibly referring to the Houdon. The third indication avail-
able to him, and the most valuable, was what he knew of the quality
of the Wallace Collection at Hertford House in London. He reasoned
that if items of such exceptional quality and importance as those he
could identify were on the manuscript list with such insignificant
captions, it was likely that others would prove of equal consequence.
In his autobiography, Bernard Baruch tells of an interview with
J. Pierpont Morgan on an investment opportunity in sulphur which
the Morgan firm had asked Baruch to investigate. An initial capital
investment of half a million dollars was required, and Baruch stated
that he was willing to gamble half that out of his own funds. To which
Morgan replied, icily, "I never gamble!" I wonder what Morgan's
reaction would have been to my father's approach to the Wallace-
Bagatelle purchase.
There is no record in any country, as far as I have been able to dis-
cover, of any comparable transaction in the whole history of the fine
arts. The late Andrew Mellon was twice involved in art purchases of
much larger totals, but he knew precisely what he was buying. Among
dealers, Lord Duveen made several spectacular and well-publicized
purchases of collections which cost several millions, but each had
been offered for public sale with well-expertized catalogues. Further-
more, they were often financed by bank loans. Long after the event, I
continue to believe that no man but Jacques Seligmann would have
had the courage to take such a huge gamble. If the enormity of what
he did left my father openly unperturbed, it was still with relief that
we viewed the profusion of riches when we were at last allowed to
inspect the house at 2 rue Laffitte. I knew, of course, that millions of
gold francs had been paid for these accumulated works of art, and I
had perused the noncommital list, but I had not seen even the few
objects which my father already knew. To me it was like entering Ali
Baba's cave. His simple but daring reasoning had been correct. Al-
most every item was of the quality of Hertford House — but in what
confusion!
All over the floors, piled up in corners, some carefully covered with
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The Wallace-Bagatelle Collection
slips, others wrapped in papers or, more often, with only a heavy
coating of dust to protect them from sight, were some of the greatest
sculptures of the 18th century and luxurious pieces of furniture made
for the royal family. There, rolled in a corner, was the famous set of
tapestries after cartoons by Boucher, now in the Philadelphia Mu-
seum. Standing on a table was the small marble figure by Lemoyne.
Over there, its companion in size and quality, was the first version of
the Cupid Bending His Bow of Bouchardon. Yonder was the superb
Houdon bust of Sophie Arnould, now in the Louvre as a bequest of
Edgar Stern.
Most belonged to the so-called decorative arts of the French 18th
century, but objects which exhibit such perfection in proportion, re-
spect for the essence of wood and the chiseling of gilded bronze are
beyond the realm of the purely utilitarian. One feels that a table such
as the Riesener, now in the Frick Collection, or a delicately conceived
bit of bronze and enamel such as the Veil-Picard chandelier, now in
the Louvre, deserve special cases, like bibelots, to preserve what they
reveal of a civilization which attained for a few years a pinnacle of
refinement.
All the great cabinet-makers were represented: Riesener, Oeben,
Weisweiler, Saunier, and Martin Carlin in pieces of furniture so
perfect architecturally that they remind one of the glorious buildings
of a Gabriel or a Mansard, yet so delicate in texture that the hand
longs to stroke them. Here, too, were the bureau du roi, which my
father later gave to the Metropolitan Museum; sets of furniture up-
holstered in tapestries designed by Casanova and Le Prince; busts
by Houdon; drawings and gouaches and paintings by Nattier, Lan-
cret, Boucher, Prud'hon; all sorts of documentary drawings, including
those ordered by Louis-Philippe as models for the engraver who re-
corded the historical paintings which the King had gathered for the
Chateau of Versailles. Among the most impressive of the sculptures
were the Coysevox busts of the Grand Dauphin and the Due
d'Orleans, which must certainly have adorned Versailles. They are
now a part of the Samuel H. Kress Foundation in the National Gal-
lery at Washington.
Robert Cecil, Assistant Keeper of the Wallace Collection at Hert-
ford House, has been much interested in trying to establish an in-
ventory of the complete holdings of the Hertfords and Sir Richard
Wallace. That he has succeeded remarkably in this difficult research
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task is attested by the series of articles on the subject which appeared
in the Burlington Magazine, and I would like here to acknowledge
gratefully the assistance he has given me in the preparation of this
chapter.
Due to the 1940 loss of the Seligmann records, a complete recapitu-
lation of the Wallace-Bagatelle Collection will probably never be
possible. However, it is much nearer realization than seemed likely
when this book was begun, for I have recently found a copy of an
inventory made a few weeks after the death of Sir John Murray
Scott. French law requires that every legal action be taken through a
notaire, and such records are never destroyed. Through luck I dis-
covered the proper notaire. This inventory, dated February 16, 1912,
was made at the behest of Douglas Alexander Scott, apparently be-
fore his brother's will, leaving the collection to Lady Sackville, had
been located. It is definitely not the list which my father had, for that
was handwritten and Scott's is a typed legal document. Anyway it is
hardly likely that the Scott family would have made it available to
Lady Sackville or her prospective purchaser. While this inventory is
almost as sparing of detail as the other, it does give an occasional
indication of artist and a certain amount of description. For the sake
of the record, and for those specialists interested in such documenta-
tion, a resume of the inventory has been included in the appendix,
along with as complete a record as I have been able to make of the
present whereabouts of major items of the collection.
The first private collector to see this collection while it was still at
rue Laffitte was Henry C. Frick, who came straight from the golf
course, dressed in plus-fours and a plaid cap. With him came Elsie de
Wolfe, who was advising him in purchases for his new home. A
selection was made on the spot, neither of them being at all discon-
certed by the untidiness, the junkshop atmosphere of the cluttered
rooms. Miss de Wolfe's recollection of this episode in her book, After
All, is faulty on several points. She states that it was Lady Sackville
who approached Jacques Seligmann, which may be true, and that the
arrangement was for the selling rights to the collection in return for
financing her lawsuit, which is not true. The deal was an outright
purchase. Nor could Miss de Wolfe, as she relates, have gone with my
father to the rue Laffitte house while it was still under seal. The seals
had been placed by the courts for the protection of all parties con-
cerned and were not lifted until the ownership of the collection had
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The Wallace-Bagatelle Collection
been definitely decided by the court. I stress this because the extraor-
dinary feature of this huge transaction was the fact that my father
was willing to pay a remarkably large sum for a collection he had
never seen.
A few days after Frick's visit, the entire collection was moved to
Sagan. There it was installed in the new building on the far side of
the garden. The exhibition was the sensation of the season, with col-
lectors coming from North and South America, and from all over
Europe, to admire and to buy.
Sadly, it was one of the last international gatherings in Paris for
many years to come, for the year was 1914 and the month was June.
On August 2, France mobilized, and for four years, Europe aban-
doned the enjoyment of art for grimmer pursuits.
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CHAPTER X
The War Years, 1914-1918
Within hours of the mobilization order, I was in uni-
form, a second lieutenant of infantry, far from the
art world, and my activities for the next few years have no place in the
story except as they affected my future life. My father was not in
Paris at the time of my departure, but an incident concerning him
remains in my mind. He had given specific instructions to the office
manager that in the event of a sudden call to arms in his absence, I
was to be given a thousand gold francs to take with me. I protested
strongly, but my father's orders were law, and for many months of
muddy trench life, I was burdened with my useless gold francs. I had
to buy a heavy leather belt to hold them, which was stiff and uncom-
fortable. It was only on my first leave, almost a year later, that I
could convince my father that a lowly tin of sardines, which no
amount of money could have bought, would have been much more
useful.
Business in Paris came to a standstill; by mid-September the gal-
leries were closed and the Palais Sagan was turned over to the Red
Cross. On that first leave I found the once neat and elegant courtyard
filled with temporary wooden shacks and vehicles of all sorts, and
Sagan itself busy with the activities of a hundred or so women, sew-
ing, rolling bandages, all working toward the same end: aid to the
wounded returning to the city. Paris was never far from the fighting
front; at one time the fortified positions were only about sixty miles
away, and while the atmosphere of the great city was still that of the
rear, this closeness gave it special stimulation.
When later leaves brought me back to the city, my father some-
times made the pretense of a business call to some old and valued
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The War Years, 191^-1918
friend and client, asking me to accompany him. Since no real business
talk ever developed out of these visits, I have a suspicion that then-
true purpose was to show off his officer son. I especially treasure a
visit to Arthur Veil-Picard, a great collector and a delightful man.
With all his wealth, his art treasures, his shrewd knowledge of men,
he remained simple, pleasant, and even affectionate.
Veil-Picard was a sort of Balzacian character; his big house on the
rue de Courcelles, near the Pare Monceau, presented an imposing
facade, but past its elegant foyer, confusion and profusion reigned.
Here were hung, with no discernible plan, row upon row of the most
precious creations of France's great 18th century artists. He always
claimed that they were disposed with a definite decorative purpose
and according to a chronological scheme, but I was never able to
make it out. It looked as if someone had finally convinced him that
the paintings really should be hung on the walls rather than stacked
about on the floor, and to have peace he had answered, "Well, all
right, all right, over there is an empty space; hang them up!"
This interpretation was in some measure borne out by the man
himself. He had a short, powerfully-built body, as rugged as the Jura
Mountains under whose shadow he was born, and he spoke with the
earthy accent of his native region. His vast fortune was begun early
in life, shortly after the Franco-Prussian War in 1871. He had in-
herited a small banking business in his native Besancon and one day
was called upon for funds and advice by the owner of the Pernod
distillery, then a small, undeveloped enterprise. Realizing the poten-
tialities of the business, he sold his assets, purchased the company,
and turned his financial acumen and energy into making it successful.
His achievement, however, made of him neither a snob nor a society
man. Dress was the least of his preoccupations. Callers, regardless of
rank or quality, always found him in the same attire, a business suit,
probably ready-made and already of some age, its trousers loosely
held up by a belt, and a distinctive white stock tie, also ready-made
and often not too fresh, hanging slightly askew about his neck. At
home he usually wore slippers of soft leather with the broken counters
folded under his heels. When he went out, he changed these for old-
fashioned black buttoned shoes.
He had but two passions in his later years. One was for art of the
French 18th century and the other was for race horses. He owned a
fine stud farm and a racing stable, and was as well known a figure on
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MERCHANTS OF ART
the turf as he was in the galleries. In fact, so completely was his life
divided between these two hobbies that each indicated where he
could be found at any hour. In the morning he was at home unless
there were races outside Paris. In the afternoon he went to the race
course, to his farm, to an exhibition or to an art dealer. My father
never made an appointment (in fact, Veil-Picard had no telephone
except the one in the porter's lodge) but just dropped in on him.
Careless, frugal and even parsimonious about the smaller amenities
of life, Veil-Picard had such high standards in his collecting that to
find another exquisite gouache or pastel to please him was truly diffi-
cult; but he never hesitated to buy when he found one. Whatever the
price, the account was always settled immediately, in cash, from the
apparently unlimited supply which always seemed to be at hand in a
drawer of his desk.
He kept no invoices and, of course, no catalogue, but he had an
amazing memory for the details of every object he owned. He could
name all the successive owners, the dates, and the amounts involved
in the longest pedigree. He probably could do the same for his race
horses. Not only was he posted about the provenances of his own
possessions, but there was scarcely a great work of art from the
French 18th century which he did not know in the same detail.
The last time I saw him, in 1938, he was thrilled and excited by two
new "children," two gouaches by Lavreince which he had just ac-
quired from the Mortimer L. Schiff sale in London, L'Assemblee au
Salon and L'Assemblee au Concert. I had made the arrangements for
the Schiff sale, and when I told Veil-Picard so and how delighted I
was that the two exquisite Lavreinces had found such an appreciative
owner, he reproached me for not having notified him before they
went to auction. He said he would have bought them immediately
from me in New York, without even seeing them. He had known them
and wanted them for years, and he recounted their provenances to
me.
The art world held no secrets for him. Besides keeping in touch
with the leading dealers, he had several intermediaries constantly on
the scent of new treasures. He was a shrewd bargainer and apparently
felt that a purchase commission to an intermediary represented less
than a profit to a dealer, a reasoning not always correct. Arthur Veil-
Picard assembled in his lifetime an almost unequalled collection in
his chosen field; sumptuous series of pastels by La Tour and Perron-
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The War Years, 1914-1918
neau, of gouaches by Lavreince, Moreau, and Dugourc; paintings
and drawings by Fragonard and Hubert Robert; marble sculptures
by Houdon; and small objets d'art of surpassing quality. Among these
was an exquisite small gilt-bronze chandelier, ornamented with
enamel of an unusual blue-gray tone, and appliqued with fine gold.
It was made in the Regency period by some unknown craftsman of
great talent, and was formerly in the Wallace-Bagatelle Collection.
Veil-Picard rightly kept it under glass. His daughter has since pre-
sented it to the Louvre. His delightful portrait of Mademoiselle
Duthe, the celebrated actress, also came from the Wallace-Bagatelle
Collection. It had been commissioned from Vestier by the Comte
d'Artois for his Folie de Bagatelle and was said to have ornamented,
appropriately enough, his salle de bain, for it depicts the charming
lady stepping daintily from a woodland pool.
Veil-Picard was, in fact, one of the first to visit the Wallace-
Bagatelle Collection after my father bought it. Two other outstanding
items he acquired were souvenirs of Marie- Antoinette, one of them a
touching and intimate memento. It is a small notebook, a Carnet de
Bat perhaps, of only a few leaves between covers of chased gold and
green galuchat; on one side is a portrait of the Queen herself, while
on the other are the two children of her brother-in-law, the Comte
d'Artois, held in the arms of their mother, and the Comtesse de
Provence. These miniatures, attributed to Dumont, represent the
Queen and the two countesses in the full bloom of their youth and
beauty. Inside, in a childish writing, perhaps done with the tiny gold
and ivory pencil which accompanies it, are these words, "Charles a
ete mediant" and "Charles sans friandises." Charles was the familiar
name of the little Dauphin, the Due de Normandie, and it is likely
that he scrawled the words himself. Little is known of the book's his-
tory except that Lord Hertford acquired it in 1868 and that it had
once belonged to the Clermont-Tonnerre family. A truly royal bed
made by the famous Jacob, also said to have belonged to the ill-fated
Queen, still carrying its superb draperies of embroidered silk de-
signed by Philippe de La Salle, always held a place of honor in the
Veil-Picard salon during the old gentleman's time. It is one of the
few items which has left the possession of the family; it is now in
the Cleveland Museum. Also from the Wallace-Bagatelle Collection
were the pair of superb Riesener commodes which graced the salon,
as well as several exquisite small tables and a bureau de dame.
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MERCHANTS OF ART
Arthur Veil-Picard's greatest love, however, was undoubtedly Fra-
gonard, an impressive group of whose paintings and drawings he al-
ready possessed when shortly before the war he added the crowning
jewel, the smaller version of the Fete a Saint Cloud, formerly in the
Goldschmidt and Count Pastre Collections. Perhaps next in his affec-
tions was Hubert Robert. His Roberts were of a type rarely encoun-
tered; they belong to the period of the artist's maturity when archi-
tectural detail gave way to a broader expression in open spaces and
sparkling bodies of water. In addition, Veil-Picard owned part of a
unique group of true portraits which Robert painted for Madame
Geoffrin, a field into which the artist seldom ventured, but then with
what charm and grace.
Surrounded by the 18th century, Arthur Veil-Picard's knowledge
of the history of France in that period was detailed and intimate and
completely self-taught.
His son inherited his father's love for the beautiful, along with the
rue de Courcelles house and a share of its treasures. When faced with
the necessity of rearranging his home after some works of art went
to other heirs, he set about displaying the remainder in an appropriate
manner. Today, the house no longer has a Balzacian character, but
has acquired dignity and style. Young Veil-Picard has broken away
from the typically French reticence which kept his father from re-
sponding as generously as he might have to requests for loans to
exhibitions. With modern civic spirit, he feels an obligation to share
the enjoyment of his riches.
My reason for recalling with pleasure this wartime visit to the elder
Arthur Veil-Picard had nothing to do with works of art. It must have
been in late 1916, after the heavy fighting around Verdun, when a
regrouping of troops, in order to give us a respite, had sent me to a
large, so-called quiet sector in Alsace and a temporary assignment to
General Staff. Naturally, my experiences and duties interested Veil-
Picard and my father. I mentioned that because of the extensive
length of the front, even the infantry officers ( I was now a First Lieu-
tenant ) had taken to horseback and I sorely missed my own excellent
mount which had been commandeered at the beginning of the war.
Veil-Picard insisted that I come immediately to choose one from his
stables, any one I wished. I was much too fond of horses to submit a
delicately bred animal to the rigors of a front-line division, and I told
him that I felt it would be wrong to accept. He said that it would be
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The War Years, 1914-1918
waiting for me when I came back. He could not have made a kindlier
gesture and I was greatly touched by it, for he loved his horses as he
did his works of art.
Such interludes for me in those years, however, were exceptional.
As the war dragged on, the Allies' materiel rapidly diminished and
the staggering human losses continued to mount. Of the fifty-odd offi-
cers in my regiment, only three were alive in 1916. Three battalion
commanders and three successive company commanders under
whom I served were dead. Civilian and military morale was at its
lowest ebb that year. For Jacques Seligmann, it was one more year of
daily anguish for his country and for his son at the front, heightened
by the knowledge that his second son, my brother Andre, still under
training, would also shortly join a fighting unit. He had practically
given up business, but for a man of his character, idleness was un-
thinkable and he was eager to do something which would put his
energies and his intelligence to use. Then, in January, 1917, he was re-
quested by the French government to undertake a special mission to
the United States. My father never said much about the real nature of
his mission. I gathered in later years that it had a dual purpose — diplo-
matic and financial. I do not have a clear picture of the diplomatic
part of the trip, other than that he was to explain the French situation
to leading New York newspapermen and influential people and to
get their advice on means of correcting American misunderstandings.
This was one of those times when the delicate balance of international
affairs made it expedient for a government to entrust such a mission
to an independent businessman who would be unhampered by official
regulations and diplomatic commitments.
The financial part of the mission resulted from government concern
about the drain of French gold and French-held American dollars.
Any activity which might put dollars at the disposition of France was
vigorously encouraged. Jacques Seligmann, and a number of other
firms doing business in New York, were requested to reactivate their
New York offices. It was not an easy assignment. Shipping works of
art through enemy submarines was risky; gathering a group of ob-
jects of sufficient importance to tempt a wartime American market
was difficult. The voyage itself meant personal danger for my father.
It was for none of these reasons, however, as I know from a letter
I received at the front, that acceptance of the mission cost my father
something in mental stress. He was afraid that his departure from
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France at so crucial a moment might be misunderstood, that he might
be accused of "business as usual." In addition, there was the anxiety
he felt at putting an even greater distance between himself and news
of his son at the front.
Nevertheless, armed with a diplomatic passport, he embarked un-
der the dubious protection of a neutral Spanish ship. Reticent though
he was about the achievements of the mission, he was voluble and
caustic about the crossing, not so much about its dreariness and its
physical discomfort, which must have caused some pain to a man
used to peacetime luxury liners, as about the type and quality of his
fellow passengers. The United States was still neutral and this was a
neutral ship. For the first time in three years my father heard German
spoken about him. It must have been difficult indeed for a man of his
temperament to hold his tongue. Too, it was necessary to keep in
mind that espionage went on under the most innocent guises and a
chance remark might prove costly. It was with great relief that he
landed in New York and found that the shipment of art had also
arrived safely.
The Morning Herald of January 22, 1917, reported his arrival under
a headline, "Jacques Seligmann here with canvases to help stop
France's gold outflow." It also quoted him as predicting that America
would soon be the art center of the world. The Art Neivs, The New
York Times, and other journals carried notices of his activities during
the two-month stay. I can report little of the intangible diplomatic
results, but I can affirm that the tangible financial ones were spectacu-
lar. He cleared more than a million dollars. An unusually precise
record of sales was kept and, fortunately, retained by the New York
office.
The first entry records the purchase of five superb Fragonard draw-
ings by Mortimer L. Schiff, whose name appeared again two weeks
later when his prize was a unique Clodion group, a child riding on a
griffon. There must have been rivalry between him and Henry Wal-
ters over this exquisite little sculpture, as it was the period which Mr.
Walters admired. Apparently, however, Walters was consoled by the
four large representations of the Four Continents by Bertos. William
Salomon added a famous Riccio incense burner to his already fine
collection of early Italian bronzes and Clarence Mackay carried off a
bust by Leone Leoni and a 16th century Flying Mercury. Between
them they spent more than sixty thousand dollars. Senator W. A.
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The War Years, 1914-1918
Clark acquired a lovely portrait of Elizabeth of France by Vigee
Lebrun. Jules Bache bought a gold-woven tapestry panel represent-
ing a Head of Christ; Edwin S. Bayer, a Flemish 15th century Virgin
in Glory. Stanley Mortimer added to his group of majolicas; Mrs.
B. N. Duke to her collection of water colors.
Such sales inevitably were reported, often erroneously. One art
journal said La Frileuse, the lovely Houdon bronze from the Wallace-
Bagatelle Collection, was sold to an undisclosed collector for one hun-
dred and seventy thousand dollars; in a later edition it carried the
headline, "Frick gets La Frileuse" and the story had the price at two
hundred and seventy thousand dollars. Both amounts were wrong
and the purchaser was not Frick, but Henry P. Davison. The same
paper announced the sale of a bronze Hercules and Antaeus by Gio-
vanni da Bologna to Henry E. Huntington, which was correct, but
the figure paid, while high, was not the reported sixty-two thousand
dollars.
One side of my father's ledger indicates art sales, while a separate
column shows a series of often equally generous figures representing
sums donated to the Paris Red Cross, the war orphans, the mutilated,
and the blind. The American collectors not only were willing to spend
lavishly on their hobbies and their enjoyments; most of them knew
and loved France and were anxious to help alleviate the suffering
which had overtaken the French people. My father was exceedingly
impressed and profoundly touched by the spontaneity of the response
and the bounty of the gifts, evidence of a great American trait which
he had not before had an opportunity to discover.
November of 1918 found me passing my second dreary month in
the Russian hospital in Athens. I had come to Greece in early Septem-
ber at the request of General Gramat, who had been commanding
Colonel of my original regiment in 1914. He was now military ad-
visor to the Greek king, and I, as a Captain, had spent the last year
and a half as liaison officer with the A.E.F. I left France reluctantly,
as the final big push was about to begin, but the Balkan area also
promised important action in the attack about to be launched against
the "soft underbelly," and aide-de-camp to the General was an ex-
citing post. Actually I saw nothing of the Greek action and very little
of Greece, for a particularly virulent type of malaria struck me almost
upon my arrival and thus put me in the Russian hospital. The only
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MERCHANTS OF ART
precise, and certainly only pleasant, memories I have of the whole
Greek episode are of two or three early morning rides to the Parthe-
non in the green light of the Aegean dawn and, two months later,
the sound of the distant battleship guns in the harbor of Piraeus, an-
nouncing the Armistice. The cease-fire arrived just in time; now I
could be moved to Paris for the proper care and treatment needed to
save my life.
Since I was one of the younger and unmarried men in the army, it
was almost another year before I was discharged. After a convales-
cent leave, I was given a desk job in Paris, and so, though still in uni-
form, I was on hand to take part in a second international mission
entrusted to my father, this time in his capacity of art expert.
One of the great questions of the peace negotiations, of course, was
reparations — how much, and of what, should be claimed from the
vanquished nations, who had caused this catastrophic upheaval. Gold
stocks, railroads, customs receipts, and some of the means of indus-
trial production were the obvious sources for payment. Other sources
were also suggested, among them works of art, not as the loot of war,
but after due expertization and evaluation. The sums so reached
would then be credited to assessments made against the defeated
countries, and the works of art would be prorated among the allied
nations, chiefly France, England, and Italy. The idea was at first well
received. In the heat of the still burning resentment at destruction of
human life and national sustenance, it seemed only just that the
hated nations be made to pay with everything they owned and be
dispossessed of their most treasured assets. The procedure would
have a purpose beyond the strictly material; it would be a moral re-
minder that war endangers the spiritual heritage of a nation as well
as its territorial holdings.
This principle of the dispossession of the vanquished was made
somewhat more palatable by the fact that the objects in question
were not, in most cases, to be taken from the common property of the
nation, but rather from the personal possessions of the former reign-
ing houses. The paintings by Watteau at Potsdam, for instance, had
been assembled by Frederic the Great of Prussia and had remained
the property of the Hohenzollern family. A large part, if not all, the
treasures at the Hofburg in Vienna and the Castle of Schoenbrunn
were Hapsburg heirlooms. Furthermore, was not a part of this aes-
thetic treasure the result of earlier lootings? Would there not be a
112
The War Years, 1914-1918
sort of inherent justice in removing works of art which had come from
the plunderings of the past? Such considerations seemed to justify
the plan.
My father was called in by Philippe Berthelot, the permanent
Secretary of Foreign Affairs, and, after several conferences, was re-
quested to establish an inventory of the Hapsburg tapestries in
Vienna. Unless my memory has gone amiss, in the general scheme
these tapestries were destined for France, who never got them. The
paintings were to be claimed by Italy, some of which she actually
received.
The remnants of the railroads across Europe were still in the hands
of the army, and no civilian could travel into Austria except on special
mission. My father, with his credentials, and I, still in uniform but on
special leave, had no difficulty in obtaining priority seats. But official
status could do little to make the journey pleasant. The train was
slow and unheated, the once-luxurious wagon-lit was in dismal con-
dition. The only food we had was from cans we brought with us. After
four years of front-line life, the trip was comfortable enough for me;
but it was a definite hardship for my father. More than that, though,
he was opposed to the plan of impounding great works of art to pay
for war damage and was going to Vienna only out of a sense of duty.
We started to work immediately after arrival. It required more
than presenting credentials in the proper quarter; it meant moving
the poor devils in charge of the collections, who were apathetic under
the triple weight of malnutrition, the depression of defeat, and an
understandable reluctance to cooperate in the alienation of cherished
treasures.
The tapestry collections of the Austrian and Spanish Hapsburgs
together comprise the greatest group in the world. Both derive from
a common 16th century source, the Emperor Charles V. I have not
seen the Madrid tapestries, but it would be hard to conceive of any-
thing finer than those in Vienna. After several visits to museum offi-
cials, many of whom my father had known well before 1914 and
dealt with often, it became apparent that the chief obstacle was with
the officials of the Hofburg, the former Imperial Palace. We had un-
derstood that all the tapestries were stored there, and we did find
some exceptional ones, but so few that another repository must exist.
After several days of polite lack of cooperation, it took threat of mili-
tary action to discover it in the Castle of Schonbrunn just outside the
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MERCHANTS OF ART
city. Once accomplished, every facility for carrying out the task was
afforded us.
No complete catalogue of the tapestries existed; I doubt that one
had ever been published. There was not even an inventory in the
Austrian archives. (When the art treasures of Vienna were exhibited
in New York in 1950, it was explained that the tapestries had achieved
the status of a national collection only after the dissolution of the
monarchy in 1918; previously they had been part of an Imperial
"depot" from which individual items could be withdrawn for wall
decoration as court occasion or ceremony demanded.) For several
days we were shown the fabulous fabrics, carefully rolled, and in a
dazzling state of preservation; they glittered with gold and silver
threads. Except for a few superb 18th century examples they all be-
longed to that period of the Renaissance when emperors, princes,
and prelates were the Maecenases of art, and their wall-hangings had
to rival the richness of their gilded or enameled suits of armor and the
brilliance of their jewels. Series after series was unrolled, one more
brilliant than another — series of two, of four, of six — all with magnifi-
cent borders bearing crests, crowns, initials, or fleur de lys, according
to the status of their owners. One particularly handsome set was
woven on a red background, and it must have been blinding in its
brilliance when made; now the tarnished gold, glinting darkly against
the blood-red background, gave it an almost sinister beauty.
The cartoons had come from the greatest ateliers of the day; de-
signs by Raphael similar to those in the Vatican, others by artists then
little known, like Vermeyen, who accompanied Charles V on his mili-
tary campaigns, and Etienne Delaune. The weavers, too, were the
best — William Pannemaker of Brussels, Pieter Coecke van Aelst,
Henri de Neves. The subjects were as diverse — military, religious,
allegorical — some familiar, others unique. All were in pristine con-
dition; many had never been hung on a wall.
Despite his long experience and foreknowledge of what to expect,
my father was deeply impressed. Slowly he dictated to me the titles
of the series, the subject of each tapestry, the weaving atelier, the size
and condition, and any special data. There were almost nine hundred
items. At the end of each day, my father asked me to make a formal
longhand copy of the notes; they were too confidential to entrust to
anyone else.
The monumental job was never finished. Philippe Berthelot arrived
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The War Years, 1914-1918
in Vienna and called my father to a meeting of those in charge of the
project. The import of the brief conference left an indelible impres-
sion on my memory.
After hearing a succinct report by my father on the type and num-
ber of tapestries examined, Berthelot explained that France was in no
financial position to maintain so valuable a collection. While a few
examples in French museums would be of great aesthetic value, it
would serve no purpose to keep hundreds. In view of this, if the col-
lection were awarded to France as part of the reparations, the only
reasonable course would be to convert it into money. Turning to my
father, he asked, "Mr. Seligmarm, can you give us a rough valuation
of the collection?"
"I regret that I could not do so within any reasonable margin," he
replied.
"Then let me put it this way," said Berthelot. "At what price would
you be willing to purchase the whole collection?"
My father smiled and replied that it was indeed a flattering ques-
tion, but even if he had the means to close such a deal, he would still
hesitate to commit himself. It would take a great many years to dis-
pose effectively of so many tapestries.
"Would you, then," continued Philippe Berthelot, "consider acting
as selling agent for the Government, and, if so, would you venture an
estimate of how much credit France might count upon to be charged
against reparations?"
My father understood the implication of Berthelot's question. It
was public knowledge that in 1917, Jack Morgan had sold a number
of his father's gold and silver woven tapestries to a syndicate of
private collectors and dealers and that several had since been resold
at extremely high prices, rumored to be as much as three to five
hundred thousand dollars. Was it not possible, therefore, to similarly
evaluate those in Vienna, even taking as a basis one-half of the
figures obtained in the Morgan sale in New York? My father realized
that he would have to explain the delicate mechanism of supply and
demand in the art world.
"Contrary to the laws of arithmetic," he said, "were we to give a
valuation of even one hundred thousand dollars apiece, three hun-
dred of them would not add up to thirty million dollars. The financial
value of a work of art is computed not only in terms of its aesthetic
merit, but also in terms of its rarity. Were three hundred paintings
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MERCHANTS OF ART
by Rembrandt suddenly to be offered on the market, we would be
faced with the same condition. There might be three hundred col-
lectors eager to buy a Rembrandt, but they would not pay for one of
three hundred the price any one would bring if offered alone. The
only solution for the tapestries, and a very unsatisfactory one, I will
admit, would be to stagger the sales over a period of perhaps ten
years. Even then it would be necessary to keep secret from the buying
public the knowledge of regular offerings to come — a difficult thing
to do."
That ended the meeting. Eventually, the whole idea of assigning
works of art in payment of reparations was discarded, much to the
relief of all concerned. Philippe Berthelot was, I feel sure, opposed
on the same moral grounds as my father to the principle of the
scheme. So was I. But I would give a lot to know what became of my
notes.
116
CHAPTER XI
End of an Era
The trip to Austria, and the leisure afforded by the un-
exacting duties of my army desk job, gave me an oppor-
tunity to return gradually to the activities of the art world. By that
time, Sagan was reopened, the temporary wooden barracks were re-
moved, and to all outward appearances everything was as it was
before the war. When I was finally officially discharged, all I had to
do, or so it seemed, was to start civilian life where it stopped in Au-
gust, 1914. This illusion was quickly dispelled. The war had wrought
changes in the art world just as it had in everything else. Collectors
were different; some older ones had died and new ones were develop-
ing; tastes in collecting were changing; the problems of buying were
new; economic problems were vastly different, for the balance of
money power had passed to the New World; even I, as I was to find
out, was not the same.
Awareness of these changes naturally did not come at once, and it
was not until my first postwar trip to America in early 1920 that some
of them began to impress me. That journey more or less directly
precipitated the only two real differences of opinion which ever arose
between my father and me during the too few years of active partner-
ship that were left to us. These differences resulted from some of the
postwar changes which I believed affected matters of policy of tre-
mendous significance for the future of the firm.
The first discussion had to do with my desire to spend the greater
part of my time in the United States, whereas my father wished me
to remain in Paris. My arguments were based on sound business con-
siderations, but, I realize now, my determination resulted from war-
time changes in my own point of view.
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MERCHANTS OF ART
In 1917, as a Captain after three years of heavy fighting all along
the front, I became the first French officer assigned to the first Ameri-
can combat unit to land on French soil, appropriately, the First Di-
vision, Major General William L. Sibert commanding. As an officer
in the operations branch of the Division's General Staff, I was re-
sponsible for all liaison, not only with French divisions but with the
different elements of the American division as well. I had, tempo-
rarily, all the prerogatives of an American officer and worked directly
with all members of the front line units, from Commanding General
to privates. The First Division was an elite unit; the best officers, both
regulars and reserves, had been eager to be a part of it. George C.
Marshall, U. S. Chief of Staff in World War II, was a Captain in G3;
Major Theodore Roosevelt, Jr., later a Brigadier General, was in com-
mand of an infantry batallion. For over a year I lived with Americans
of all kinds under very trying circumstances. Except for the fact that
we spoke English instead of French, they might have been my own
countrymen. I appreciated the comradeship they offered me, their
enthusiasm, their eagerness, their courage.
And it was not only my personal reaction; I saw the response of the
French peasants in villages where we were billeted to the easy-going,
friendly spirit of the American soldiers, always ready to give a hand
or to play with a child, their good sportsmanship, their will to under-
stand a situation and act accordingly. During three years of fighting,
from the north of France to the Swiss border, I had had many oppor-
tunities to watch other foreign troops mingle with the civilian popula-
tion in relationships which had not always been so smooth. Other
foreigners came to France and held on to their specific traits and
customs. The American succeeded in adapting himself to a new en-
vironment.
Only years after did I realize how closely, even then, I had sub-
consciously identified myself with America and Americans. When
later I made the decision to choose New York as the home of my own
firm, there was no emotional wrench, for the transposition had long
since been achieved.
The arguments I presented to my father in 1920, however, were
more immediate and less personal. They were based on the conviction
that one of us must devote the greater part of the year to the American
business, or we should give it up. My few weeks in New York had
convinced me that no halfway program of short visits would work
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End of an Era
under the new conditions. For five years, the American firm, depend-
ent as it was upon Paris for its inventory, had been virtually closed;
Eugene Glaenzer, our American representative and partner, had had
little choice except to conduct a sort of holding operation. My father
had crossed the Atlantic only once in those years, on the government
mission in 1917. In the meantime a very different business climate
had developed in the United States.
My father's former powerful clients were now mostly of advanced
age. Several of them, notably Morgan, Altman, and Frick, had already
died, and a new group of collectors with new fortunes had grown up.
It seemed plain to me that if we were to build up a new clientele in
the United States, one of us would have to be there, and I was the
logical choice. I did not believe that we could do this by conducting
the New York business as we had in the past, with a few weeks of
hectic activity a couple of times a year. The art business is based es-
sentially on personality, and if new American clients were to be my
responsibility, I did not feel that a young man just beginning his
career could expect, on short visits, the indulgence accorded to
Jacques Seligmann. I felt the only alternative to nearly full-time
activity in New York would be to remain in Paris entirely.
To entertain ideas which I knew were not in keeping with those of
my father was such a new experience that I kept telling myself that
it must be I who was deficient in judgment. Further, my father was
extremely sensitive, under his outward brusqueness, particularly
when it appeared that his feeling toward his children was being mis-
understood. I would have given up the whole idea rather than hurt
my father; yet I felt that the issue had to be raised.
To complicate the situation, a second and corollary issue of equal
importance simultaneously presented itself. Those same first weeks in
postwar America had convinced me of another great change — the
growing interest in, and insatiable demand for, paintings among
American collectors. Should we remain out of this lucrative field as
we had in the past, or should we develop a greater interest in paint-
ings commensurate with the importance of the firm? My father had
become more or less convinced of the justice of my reasoning about
the New York office. But on paintings he was adamant; it remained
the only issue which ever really clouded the affectionate and sympa-
thetic relationship between my father and myself.
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MERCHANTS OF ART
Today the question of paintings seems academic, but my father's
position reflected his own years in the art business. The section of the
great Paris Exposition Universelle of 1900 devoted to works of art
before 1800 contained more than four thousand items; only sixty were
paintings. Even at the time I was arguing my conviction, many col-
lectors still spent fortunes on collections which did not include a
single painting. This was not a question of cost; paintings were not
more expensive than other objects. Exceptional Sevres porcelains
often fetched fifty or seventy-five thousand dollars; marble sculptures
of the Renaissance vied in price with those of the French 18th cen-
tury; and rare early Gothic tapestries often brought a hundred thou-
sand dollars or more. It was simply another day and another taste.
As far as the Paris firm was concerned the question had not yet
become a serious one, for there was still a lively, diversified European
market, just as there is today. Even new collectors, spending newly
made fortunes, still looked upon paintings as just one phase of col-
lecting.
Jacques Seligmann was himself something of a traditionalist, and
it was only natural that the clients coming to Sagan sought the type
of object for which the firm had long been renowned. During my first
weeks in the New York office, things seemed much the same as at
Sagan, as Eugene Glaenzer, a man of my father's generation, took
me about among the firm's clients and introduced me to his friends.
Few of them talked about paintings. It was only when I began to get
about on my own, meeting people and acquainting myself with the
American art world, that I began to understand that the collecting
field had enlarged considerably, and the majority of the newcomers
coveted paintings above all other works of art.
Jacques Seligmann, of course, had bought and sold paintings in
the past, usually important examples from well-known collections,
such as the Isenbrandt from the Lippmann sale (now in the Metro-
politan Museum ) , a Gerard David, a Crivelli, and a Flemish primitive
from the Dollfus sale ( all of which went to George Blumenthal and
are also in the Metropolitan ) , a Goya portrait from Jacques Doucet,
and a Rembrandt in the Yerkes auction (now in the De Young Mu-
seum in San Francisco ) . He owned an impressive group of Fragonard
water colors and drawings, and he even made one foray into the
modern field when he acquired seventy-one paintings, pastels, and
drawings by Degas in the sales of the Atelier Degas of 1918. These
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End of an Era
were intended for his private collection; other paintings hung on our
walls at home as well. Yet, when he bought the Wallace-Bagatelle
Collection in 1913, he disposed of a large part of the paintings to
Roland Knoedler, en bloc, rather than bother with them.
In 1920, the year we had our most serious discussions on the sub-
ject, an auction came up in Amsterdam in which there was an ex-
tremely rare and important painting from the Borger collection, a
Donor with Saint John the Baptist, by Hugo van der Goes. I was eager
to have it and after much imploring, my father was finally persuaded
to buy it. It was almost immediately acquired by Henry Walters and
is today one of the glories of the Walters Gallery in Baltimore. The
success of that venture emboldened me to try again when the Villeroy
Collection came up for sale in Paris in 1922 with two paintings about
which I was very keen. One was an adorable profile portrait of an
unnamed woman, attributed only to an unknown artist of the Italian
15th century; the other, also in profile, purported to be a portrait of
Marie de Bourgogne, but it, too, was unbaptised, and simply called
Flemish, 15th century.
Again, after considerable persuasion, my father let himself be con-
vinced on the Flemish painting, but on the so-called Italian portrait
he was immovable, and it went to Duveen Brothers, who promptly
sold it to Clarence Mackay as a Pisanello. It may now be seen in the
National Gallery, via the Mellon Collection, and the attribution, the
last I knew, read "Unknown French artist of the international style."
I still consider it one of the most delightful paintings I know.
As for the portrait of Marie de Bourgogne, which we did buy, I was
dismayed to learn, on my return from a trip to the States, that my
father had sold it almost at once, for an extremely small profit, to one
of our competitors, who in turn sold it to Philip Lehman. It is today
in the collection of his son, Robert Lehman, and was exhibited in
Paris in 1957 under the title "Portrait Posthume de Marie de Bour-
gogne, attribue a Hans Maler," a Swabian painter of the early 16th
century. I was distressed that my father had sold the Marie de Bour-
gogne so summarily in my absence, but I was encouraged that he had
been willing to buy it at all.
It certainly could not be said that Jacques Seligmann disliked
paintings or did not appreciate their aesthetic qualities. His knowl-
edge of works of art was an eclectic one, and he refused to specialize
in any particular field, believing that specialization led to a limitation
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MERCHANTS OF ART
of one's understanding of beauty and quality. When it came to a
judgment upon objet d'art or a sculpture, he would not hesitate to
oppose the opinions of recognized scholars, whether Wilhelm von
Bode of the Kaisier Friedrich Museum or a curator of the Louvre.
When the Berlin museum purchased the famous Flora bust and the
Louvre the equally famous Tiara of Saitaphernes, he was among the
first to speak his mind about their genuineness, and he was right in
both cases. In our old files I came across not long ago an invoice made
out by my father which carried the notation: "A marble bust of a
youth. Guaranteed Italian work of the 15th century." This was fol-
lowed by another, underlined: "In spite of Dr. von Bode's attribution
of this bust to another Italian artist of the same period, I consider it
beyond doubt the work of Donatello." Having taken the time and
the trouble — it probably meant a trip to Germany — to consult Bode
about a work of art, it was only to disagree with him. Moreover, the
client was evidently satisfied. A dealer making such a statement today
would immediately be requested to obtain the opinions of two or
three other art experts, who would probably not agree with one an-
other. And therein, I believe, lies the answer to my father's reluctance
to delve wholeheartedly into the field of paintings — the growing
preoccupation of the new collector with names and opinions.
To the European collector of my father's generation, the question
of the authorship of a work of art or of its exact date was a compara-
tively unimportant factor in his decision to buy or not to buy. Works
of art were either genuine or forgeries and quality was the paramount
issue. While it is true that French collectors of that time were chiefly
interested in objects of a type which are apt to be anonymous, even
when they collected paintings, the name of the artist was less im-
portant to them than the quality of the work; to know school and
period sufficed. Certainly there was then, as there is today, concern
for authenticity and state of restoration. Beyond this, scholarly argu-
ments interested the collector very little.
As far as my father was concerned, his reputation for connoisseur-
ship was such that it would have been somewhat daring of a collector
to consult anyone else, implying a doubt of my father's word. Jacques
Seligmann did not consider himself infallible; he did claim that if, in
the enthusiasm of making a purchase, his eye betrayed him, he would
detect his error within a few hours of contemplation. He always kept
a new purchase in his office for a while, and between the time of its
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End of an Era
arrival and the moment when he might wish to show it to a client, if it
were not right, it would have lost the sui generis quality which it first
appeared to have. The treasure which had lost its luster would be
thrown into a corner and its cost marked off to education. I can re-
member only a few such incidents, but I remember them well, for
my father insisted that I study them as he considered these errors an
important part of the training of the eye. The spurious work of art
has a remarkable faculty to grow increasingly dull, almost unbearably
so, to the sensitive eye when observed long enough in comparison
with a genuine treasure.
Moreover, collectors like Le Breton of Rouen, Bardac, Dormeuil,
Chalandon were brilliantly knowledgeable men who had seen and
handled almost as many works of art as had my father. Their keen-
ness and love for the objects they collected had developed in them an
extra sense which made them react almost instantaneously, and their
judgment was rarely at fault. For them collecting was a true passion
sometimes carrying them far beyond their financial means. They
preferred to do without some essential of elementary comfort than
to forego the acquisition of an object which stirred them deeply.
The relationship between such collectors and the dealer was of a
rather special nature. The collector was grateful when his attention
was called to a specific work of art, and he took his time in examining
it. If he was elated at first sight of it, he compared it with other exam-
ples he already owned and consulted the dealer as an advisor. If con-
vinced, then the question of price was broached. But it was almost a
secondary matter; he could afford it or he could not, in which case he
might ask for time in which to settle, but have it he must.
The true amateur's aesthetic appreciation was as great as the his-
torian's, but the details of art history with its minutiae of schools,
dates, and related information were of little import to him. Certainly
they did not influence his buying. He was pleased to have his col-
lection admired by the learned men, but their opinions were not a
primary concern. Certain collectors used to say, in fact, that the
academicians had wide book knowledge and useful memories, but
that few of them had eyes.
In those circumstances it can readily be understood that the spe-
cialist as we have grown to know him in recent years was little needed
by either collector or dealer and outside academic circles the art his-
torian played a comparatively small role.
123
MERCHANTS OF ART
This should not be taken to mean that the dealer of my father's
time scorned the advice of an independent expert or museum man — it
was simply sought on a different level. My own introduction to the
art historian in his capacity of consultant came long before World
War I, when my father took me to Berlin to call upon the great Ger-
man savant, Wilhelm von Bode, head of the Kaiser Friedrich Mu-
seum, advisor to Kaiser Wilhelm II, as he had been to his mother, the
Kaiserin Victoria, and recipient of all the available honors, including
knighthood. Jacques Seligmann and Bode were on the friendliest
terms. There was even a measure of deference in the scholar's manner
toward my father, as there was in my father's toward him. When later
it was my turn to call upon Bode, I have to admit, somewhat shame-
facedly, that I found it difficult to respond as warmly to his cordiality
as I really wanted, and for quite an unobjective reason. It had nothing
to do with his rather brusque and categorical way of speaking or with
any doubt of his knowledge. It was simply because he always re-
minded me of Bismarck!
Though Bode was a great expert on paintings, particularly of the
Dutch schools — his works on Rembrandt and Frans Hals are still
basic references — it was in Italian sculpture of the Renaissance that
his influence was most felt, and it was usually upon this subject that
my father consulted him. Certainly there was much work to be done
in this field, a lot of clearing and pruning, and probably no one out-
side Italy has done as much toward a rational study of Italian art as
have the German scholars, from Burckhardt to Bode and his follow-
ers. The vast amount of research done since Bode's time dates some of
his works, and the younger generation, prone to criticize its elders,
has had a tendency to make light of his publications. However, the
correctness of the general lines of his classifications must be recog-
nized. If names such as Donatello or Verrocchio became generic
terms embracing whole schools, it was still no mean achievement to
have established the characteristics which enabled him to gather so
many previously anonymous works under one head.
Around Bode at the Kaiser Friedrich Museum were several other
men whom we occasionally consulted. Otto von Falke, later Di-
rector of the Kunstgewerbe Museum in Berlin, who wrote one of the
definitive works on Italian textiles, was also a great connoisseur of
early medieval works of art. He was always willing to discuss prob-
lems of attribution, period, and country, particularly in his favorite
124
End of an Era
field of early cloisonne and champleve enamels. For works of the
10th and 11th centuries, we might ask the learned opinion of the
delightful Professor Adolph Goldschmidt, a great savant with a pro-
digious knowledge and an equally prodigious memory. Later I used
to see him off and on in New York, particularly at the Morgan Library,
for Belle Greene admired him greatly. However, to me he always
seemed professorial in his explanations and I had the impression that
he was more archaeologist than aesthetician. The importance he im-
mediately gave to stylistic details irked me, as it was in direct oppo-
sition to the teachings I had received — always to go from the general
to the particular, to let the details only confirm or disprove the first
impression.
The opinions of such specialists were always of great interest to
my father, but the consulting expert had never been indispensable to
his business. It was with the advent of a new type of collector, particu-
larly new American collectors, too busy or without a sufficiently deep
interest to train the eye or the sensibilities, that the art historian be-
came a guiding authority for the collector and thus important to the
dealer.
Art scholarship, however, was still in its infancy. There had not
yet been time to delve into the bypaths, nor means to develop the
scientific methods we know today. As the passion for names grew
along with the demand for paintings, attributions to the great masters
were made, so to speak, in generic terms. A great many canvases were
called Rembrandt, for instance, simply because they were close to
the master's technique; and anyway Rembrandt was an awfully good
name. The man who had no informed opinion of his own, yet could
not bring himself, sometimes wisely, to rely entirely upon the word of
a dealer, had recourse to the services of a third party — the profes-
sional expert, the art historian, or the consulting connoisseur. This
was particularly true of the new collector of paintings to whom names
were more important than the work of art and such attributions as
"anonymous artist of the 15th century" or "school of" were anathema.
Thus the consultant became indispensable to the dealer for he could
usually supply a name, as well as the detailed data which the client
demanded.
Although Jacques Seligmann could hear new clients dismiss objets
d'art as "decorative arts," giving the term a pejorative connotation,
he was just not sufficiently interested to expand the firm's painting
125
MERCHANTS OF ART
department if selling paintings meant seeking a name to sell with the
canvas. The issue between my father and me, then, was simply the
different outlooks of different generations. My father had done his
best to train me to be both a connoisseur and an art historian. Paint-
ings interested me, and I was willing to put my knowledge to the test.
I was doubly pleased that same year when we acquired a hand-
some Venetian altarpiece of the late 15th century and my father
consented to show it to Bernard Berenson. It was my first meeting
with the great B. B., though my father had known him for many
years.
If Wilhelm von Bode was the final authority on questions of Italian
sculpture, B. B. was supreme on Italian painting. Undoubtedly the
world-wide reputations of these two dynamic and vivid personalities
had much to do with the rise to prominence of the consulting art his-
torian. In fact, I would say that no man has played a more influential
role in the art world generally than Bernard Berenson, been more
revered, or more surely captured the imagination of all, for the aura
surrounding Berenson affected even those who never met him. Many
who wished to meet him never had that opportunity for, as he had
every right to be, he was difficult to approach and impatient with
callers who came for no particular purpose. To those who interested
him, however, or those who visited him on pertinent and legitimate
errands, he was the gracious and entertaining host par excellence. I
never think of Berenson without also thinking of Voltaire; both sharp
of wit, quick of repartee, exquisite in sarcasm, and fearless in opinion,
but also deep in understanding of human nature and compassionate
with its weaknesses. B. B., like Voltaire, had a globe-circling corre-
spondence and a host of acquaintances who consulted the oracle of
I Tatti as an older generation consulted the oracle of Ferney.
He was at home in the capitals of the world, speaking Italian,
French, and German as fluently and as elegantly as English. His
knowledge of backgrounds and intrigues in political and social circles
was as all-embracing as his knowledge of those of the art world. There
can be little doubt that had he lived in the Renaissance he would have
been a Vasari or a Castiglione, advisor to the great in their pursuits of
art treasures, all the while keeping them posted on the undercurrents
and rumors of the political world. He began his career, while still in
Florence, as advisor to Isabella Gardner, a true descendant of the
Renaissance, in the assembling of one of the first comprehensive
126
End of an Era
private collections in the United States. We are indebted to him for a
prodigious number of the paintings, particularly of the Italian school,
which now grace American collections, both public and private.
I still remember that first encounter with the small, delicate-looking
man — his expressive hands, his delightful manner, his soft, well-
modulated voice, pronouncing decisions that one felt were beyond
appeal. Fortunately, the big Venetian altarpiece which he had come
to see met his approval, and he immediately pronounced it the work
of Cima da Conegliano, but added that he believed the landscape
background to be by a lesser master, Santa Croce. With all due re-
spect to the great expert, the name of Santa Croce just might have
been mentioned to soften the price, for a few days later, Lord d'Aber-
non (later Ambassador in Berlin) came to purchase the painting at
Mr. Berenson's suggestion, presenting just that argument for a lower-
ing of the quoted figure. Nor have I ever been quite certain whether
the altarpiece was actually intended to enrich d'Abernon's own col-
lection; within a comparatively short time the painting had come
into the hands of a well-known firm, from which it entered the Mellon
Collection, and eventually the National Gallery.
A second meeting with Berenson was to come only a few months
later when he came again to see a recently acquired painting, this
time by a rare Flemish master of the 15th century, Joos van Gent.
Berenson's interest was universal, and if his judgment was less quick
in the northern than Italian schools, it was no less sure. Works by
Joos van Gent are scarce indeed, and he needed time for a study of
comparative material, but again he confirmed the attribution, and his
decision has never been contested.
With these two successes behind me, I began to hope that my
father was gradually being won to my point of view about painting,
as he had seemed to be about our New York office. I truly believe he
might have been, but time was running short, too short for the full
cooperation that would have grown over the years between a father
and a son so closely linked.
These differences of opinion between my father and myself never
turned into an important personal feud, or even violent disagreement.
Neither did I feel personal triumph when I proved to be right and he
wrong. I recount them only for what they reveal of the evolutions of
the world of collecting. My devotion to my father far exceeded busi-
ness considerations. I owed to him the gift of appreciation and enjoy-
127
MERCHANTS OF ART
ment of man's most beautiful creations, a gift in itself beyond price
and one I have cherished throughout my life.
In the summer of 1923, my father motored to Italy where I joined
him for a few days of vacation before returning to New York. One
evening, as we walked along the banks of beautiful Lake Varese, I
found myself trying, awkwardly enough, to express to him something
of that sense of gratitude. Neither he nor I were prone to talk so
intimately, and we rarely expressed our emotions fully, though I had
long guessed his sensitivity and how much such words could mean to
him. Premonition? Perhaps. It was the last time I saw him. A few
weeks later, on the 30th of October, he died, a victim of pneumonia,
while I was racing from Chicago to New York, trying to reach the
first steamer to take me back to him.
128
CHAPTER XII
Some Collectors
When I reached my office in New York after that hur-
ried trip from Chicago, I found Thomas Fortune
Ryan waiting for me. It was not yet nine o'clock in the morning, but
he had come in the hope of catching me before I sailed. I was truly
moved by the warmth of his sympathy and the spontaneity of the
gesture, the assurance it brought me that he mourned the loss of a
friend as well as of an advisor whose opinion he valued and trusted.
His visit, and the many others, the messages from friends both here
and abroad, were a real source of solace, evidence that great and
small recognized the mettle of the man. Especially was it important
to me that these mighty businessmen, many also self-made, under-
stood the courage, daring, and energy it had taken to achieve Jacques
Seligmann's success.
Inevitably the first months after my father's death were much occu-
pied with the immediate problems which confront a family suddenly
bereft of the head of the house. The legal formalities attendant upon
the settlement of the estate, difficult enough anywhere, but in France
often confusion compounded, were made more complicated by the
necessity of reorganizing the financial structure of the firm itself.
Certain members of the family wished to retain their interests, others,
including my brother Andre who had already established a gallery
of his own in Paris, did not. Meanwhile, of course, the business had
to be conducted at the Palais de Sagan, at the rue de la Paix gallery,
and in New York. My father's death had followed by only a few
months the demise of Eugene Glaenzer, our American partner and
manager, so that office was without a resident director. In 1924 I be-
gan a veritable commuter's life which in the next fifteen years was
129
MERCHANTS OF ART
to entail more than a hundred and twenty-five crossings of the At-
lantic. Since a crossing took a week — the airplane was not yet avail-
able— I figure that more than two years of my life were spent on
shipboard.
Fortunately, the Paris firm was well-staffed with a number of men
who had been with my father for many years and who could be relied
upon during my absences. Albert L. Meyer was particularly valuable
for his sound knowledge of the 18th century and his exquisite taste.
His name still gives eclat today to the drawings which he gathered
for his personal collection. Rene Seligmann, my first cousin, the eldest
son of my Uncle Simon, had come into the business immediately after
his war service. His charm, sunny nature, genuine liking for people,
and active social life made him an ideal associate in the building of a
new clientele. We were almost of an age, and I found in him a valu-
able ally both in Paris and New York when I wished to launch the
firm into the new direction which collecting was taking, particularly
in the United States.
Any son of a successful father who is suddenly called upon to as-
sume that father's functions as head of an important firm is bound to
feel a sense of his own inadequacy, no matter how well prepared he
may be by years of training. Though I was thirty when my father
died, my years of actual business experience had been curtailed by
eight years of military service. To my father's employees and asso-
ciates, as well as to his competitors, I was still "young Germain" who
had yet to prove his ability. If I was able to surmount these problems
and to weather the inflationary storms of the turbulent twenties and
the depression doldrums of the thirties, a good measure of the credit
must go to the encouragement I received from my father's loyal and
affectionate friends among the great collectors, both French and
American.
One I shall always recall with deep affection and gratitude is Henry
Walters, who by a simple and generous act gave a badly needed lift
to my morale at a crucial moment. Mr. Walters had been a valued
friend and client of my father since the turn of the century. Though I
had met him a number of times, circumstances had somehow always
prevented the ripening of a real friendship, and I had an unreasoned
feeling that I should probably never see him again, at least as a client.
I was therefore doubly pleased when he appeared at Sagan one after-
noon in the spring of 1924, unheralded, as was his custom.
130
Some Collectors
After the amenities of greeting were over, I took him into the room
reserved for showing the most precious works of art. As soon as we
were alone, without preamble he said to me:
"Young man, I have just come from your competitor, Mr. X, who
said, 1 feel so sorry about young Germain Seligmann. I am very fond
of him; if his father had only lived a few years longer, he would have
been able to keep up the business; but now, so young, what will he be
able to do!' "
Then, before I could reply, he added, "I am repeating this to you
because I feel you should know what you are up against. As for me, I
am not interested in what other people tell me. I have eyes of my own.
If you keep up your father's traditions, you have nothing to fear. It
is up to you."
No man could have been kinder, no words could better have given
me the encouragement I needed at that time, and his frankness
moved me deeply. I was so touched that I stood speechless for a few
seconds. Then he said, "Well, now, what have you got to show me?"
Before he left Sagan that day, I had made my first sale to Henry
Walters, and a very important one, too. He never mentioned the topic
again, nor did I; but if he forgot it, I never have.
Henry Walters with his short, round figure, his white hair, mus-
tache and goatee, always personified to me the typical Southern
gentleman of whom I had read. His father, William T. Walters,
founder of the Atlantic Coast Line Railroad, was himself a collector
who, between 1850 and his death in 1894, had filled the big Baltimore
home with paintings and objets d'art typical of his era. He was also
an anti-secessionist and when the Civil War broke out, disturbed by
the political situation in the United States, he dispatched young
Henry to Paris. There he attended the Lycee with young Durand-
Ruel, who became his fast friend, and acquainted himself with the
art of France.
This experience, coupled with his father's tutelage (he used to
assign essay topics on art to his son), apparently served to nurture
and expand an inherent feeling for works of art. By the time of his
father's death, collecting had become a true passion with Henry
Walters. Even during the days of the railroad battles when he had to
fight to complete and develop the Atlantic Coast Line, he always
found time to indulge in his avocation. By 1907 his collection had so
increased that it was necessary to erect a gallery building, connected
131
MERCHANTS OF ART
to the family home by a "bridge of sighs" over the intervening alley,
to house it. Until Henry Walters' death in 1931, this building was
opened to the public from time to time, with a fifty-cent charge for
the benefit of the Family Welfare Association.
Henry Walters was already past middle age at the time of the
Sagan visit of which I speak and had recently married the charming
Sadie Green Jones, widow of Pembroke Jones. They were living in
New York in the house which was hers on East 61st Street. When
deciding upon a purchase, he would indicate whether it was intended
for his home or for "the museum," meaning the family mansion in
Baltimore. Once when he referred thus to "the museum," I questioned
him about it and was delighted when he offered to meet me in Bal-
timore and show it to me.
Though I had no preconceived notion of what to expect, beyond a
knowledge of the objects he had acquired from my father or from me,
the reality, when I entered the vast and gloomy hall of the marble
building, was a shock. There was a wilderness of cases filled with
objects of every description with a typical Victorian disregard for
method, value, aesthetic merit, or period. Seeing my dismay, Mr.
Walters explained that this was largely the collection which his fa-
ther had left him, that he had added much to it, but had had no time
to arrange or catalogue it. At least this way, he said, the objects were
stored in a measure of safety.
Walking around, I immediately became aware of certain objects
which were either copies or out-and-out fakes. Somewhat disap-
pointed, I decided that the only thing to do was to ignore them, and
so passed without comment to the wealth of truly fine things about
which I could be genuinely enthusiastic. But Mr. Walters, unnoticed
by me, must have been watching my reactions keenly. He kept taking
me back to some of the things which I had so carefully avoided, ask-
ing for my opinion. I was decidedly embarrassed and tried to turn
him aside with some inoffensive remark, but he repeated his ques-
tions until I finally decided there was nothing to do but take a stand
and speak my mind.
Henry Walters then said calmly, "My boy, that is just what I
wanted to hear. I know they are fakes, but since they were bought
by my father, they will remain here as long as I live. Meantime it
gives me a good test of other people's knowledge."
The fakes were the least of the surprises offered by the Walters
132
Some Collectors
house. After going through several rooms where a few of his latest
purchases were visible — one could hardly say exhibited — I inquired
about a particular sculpture which he had acquired from me the pre-
vious year and of which I was especially fond, a lovely Saint John the
Baptist by Sansovino from the collection of the Empress Frederick,
mother of Kaiser William II. Mr. Walters replied that it was still in
its packing box, and marking my astonishment, he chuckled and
asked if I wanted to see the cases. We then walked through a maze
of hallways where unopened cases by the dozens were piled on top
of each other.
"I probably won't live to see them all opened," he said, "but you
can imagine the surprise of those who will unpack them after I am
gone."
I know now that there were two hundred and forty-three of those
unopened cases, and from the accounts of those who took part in the
opening and classifying, I gather that Mr. Walters' prediction was a
mild understatement. Here, never unpacked, were the rare and ex-
ceptional objects which I knew he owned, purchased from my father,
from me, and from a host of others. Curiously enough, almost no one
in the art world at that time seemed to know anything about this
treasure trove, not even the museum men. I seldom found anyone,
until after Mr. Walters' death, who had the least conception of the
fantastic importance of this collection or the broad range it covered
from Archaic to 19th century, from the Far East to America.
This experience throws a revealing light on the character of Henry
Walters. He was always pleasant to casual acquaintances, but he
was, nevertheless, a very reserved man, modest in his behavior, and
an arch enemy of personal publicity. In the very beginning of our re-
lationship, in the days when the daily papers were anxious to publish
information about great art purchases, he told me that if I gave out
any such data, our association would end. It was said that he had been
offered the presidency of the Board of Trustees of the Metropolitan
Museum and had repeatedly rejected it, though he served the mu-
seum as vice-president for many years.
Quietly, unassumingly, over a period of years Henry Walters built
a private museum almost unequalled in variety and quality. There
was no thought of enhancing his social position or of seeing his name
in large letters over the portal of a fine building. He even deprived
himself of the joy of handling those beloved and precious objects left
133
MERCHANTS OF ART
carefully packed in the museum storage rooms. Yet he was truly a
lover of the beautiful. Often I have seen him actually caress a work
of art, and occasionally he could not resist temptation and would tell
me, "I think this should go to Baltimore, but send it home first so I
can enjoy the sight and the feel of it."
Usually, however, the objects sent to his home in New York were
presents made to Mrs. Walters, who always accompanied him on his
visits. Her one purpose seemed to be to please him in each of his
whims, and when at times he turned to her questioningly, her answer
was always, "If you like it, dear, buy it. I think it's lovely." Mrs.
Walters was already elderly when I first met her, but she must have
been a great beauty. She was still charming and gracious, and com-
pletely devoted to her husband.
Walters' attitude toward the money he spent on works of art was
consistent with his whole character. One morning in New York he
called me on the telephone, full of good humor, requesting that I
drop by his office to add up the invoices he had received from me.
Later in his modest office, without bothering to call a secretary or an
accountant, he added up the invoices himself, asked me whether we
agreed on the total, and wrote a check. Then he picked up a pair of
large scissors and began cutting the invoices. I was horrified and tried
to stop him from destroying the documents over which I had labored
hard, as they contained complete descriptions and pedigrees, a point
on which he was very particular. Laughing at my dismay, he ex-
plained that he was only cutting off the prices. "I don't want anybody
in later years to talk of my collection in terms of money spent," he
said. "That is my business; they'll have the works of art and their
pedigrees." And indeed they do have the works of art, of a diversity
and quality which few museums can equal. They do not always have
all the pedigrees, however, as I have since learned from members of
the Walters Gallery staff. If the invoice was a long one, the material
often extended to the back of the page; thus in cutting off the price,
which was placed last on the right-hand side, he deleted part of the
pedigree.
Henry Walters belonged to the generation of men who, having
acquired millions, understood the profit motive and did not begrudge
it to others. At the sale of the Octave Homberg Collection in Paris, I
bought a pair of beautiful small paintings by Boucher and had barely
134
Plate 65
Pierre-Auguste Renoir ( 1841-1919 )."Le Bal a Bougival," 1883, 5' 10%" x 3'
l3/4". Acquired by the Museum of Fine Arts, Boston, 1937.
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Plate 68
Pablo Picasso (1881- ). "Les Demoiselles d' Avignon," 1907,
8' x 7' 8". From the Jacques Doucet Collection, Paris. Acquired by
the Museum of Modern Art, New York (Lillie P. Bliss Bequest), 1937.
Plate 69
Pablo Picasso (1881- ). "La Vie," 1903, 6' 5%"x4' 2%*
the Cleveland Museum of Art. Gift of Hanna Fund, 1945.
Acquired by
Plate 70a
Georges Braque (1882- ). "Le Jour,"
1911, 13%" x 9W. From the Jacques Doucet
Collection, Paris. Acquired by Mrs. George
F. Porter, Ojai, California, 1937.
Plate 70b
Georges Braque (1882- ). "Le Gueridon,"
1926, 5' 10" x 2' 4y2". Acquired by the Museum of
Modern Art, New York, 1941.
Plate 71a
Honore Daumier (1808-1879). "L' Amateur
d'Estampes," 15%" x 13". From the Jacques
Doucet Collection, Paris. Acquired by Marshall
Field, Chicago, 1938. Present collection: The
Art Institute of Chicago, Gift of the Estate of
Marshall Field.
Plate 71b
Honore Daumier (1808-1879). "Les Deux
Confreres," watercolor, ll^"x8W. From the
Esnault-Pelterie Collection, Paris. Acquired by
Emil Biihrle, Zurich, 1953.
Plate 72
Edgar Degas (1834-1917). "L'Essayage chez la Modiste," pastel, 27" x 27". Acquired by Mrs. Da-
vid M. Levy, New York, 1938. Present collection: The Museum of Modern Art, New York. Gift of
Mrs. David M. Levy.
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Plate 76a
Edgar Degas (1834-1917). "Portrait of Diego Martelli/\1879, 29W'x45%". Acquired by Museo
Nacional de Bellas Artes, Buenos Aires, 1939. (Reproduced courtesy of the Asociacion Amigos
del Museo.)
Plate 76b
Edgar Degas (1834-1917). "Chevaux de Courses," pastel, 22"x25%". Acquired by
Leonard C. Hanna, Jr., Cleveland, 1939. Present collection: The Cleveland Museum of
Art. Bequest of Leonard C. Hanna, Jr.
Plate 78
J. A. D. Ingres (1780-1867). "Portrait of Madame Moitessier," 1856, 47M" x Z&A". Acquired by
the National Gallery, London, 1936. (Reproduced by courtesy of the Trustees.)
Plate 79
Jacques-Louis David (1748-1825). "Bonaparte, First Consul," 1798, 317/s" x 25y8". Acquired
by Carlos de Beistegui, Paris, 1938. Present collection: The Louvre, Paris, Bequest of
Carlos de Beistegui.
Plate 81
Francisco de Goya (1746-1828).
'Portrait of the Architect Don Juan Antonio Cuervo," 1819,
471/4" x 341/4". From the collection of Godfrey S. Rockefeller, Greenwich, Connecticut. Acquired
by the Cleveland Museum of Art, Mr. and Mrs. William H. Marlatt Collection, 1943.
Plate 82
German (probably Nuremberg School), 15th century. Baptismal font, 1483, bronze, height 3' 7".
*rom the collections of Baron Achille Seilliere, Chateau de Mello, and Clarence H. Mackay, New
York. Acquired by the Museum of Fine Arts, Boston, 1941.
Plate 83
French, c. 1550. Parade armor of King
Henri II, embossed, damascened and
gilded. Later presented by King Louis
XIII to Bernhard von Weimar. From the
collections of the Archdukes of S axe-
Weimar-Eisenach, and Clarence H.
Mackay, New York. Acquired by the
Metropolitan Museum of Art, Dick Fund,
1939.
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Plate 84
French (Burgundian), 15th century. Two
Mourners from the tombs of the Dukes of
Burgundy, Chartreuse de Champmol, mar-
ble, height lQVi". From the collections of
Baron Arthur de Schickler, Martinvast, and
Clarence H. Mackay, New York. Acquired
by the Cleveland Museum of Art, J. H. Wade
Collection. 1940.
Plate 85
Giovanni Battista Tiepolo (1696-1770). "The Martyrdom of Saint Sebastian," 1739,
21" x 12^". Modello for the altarpiece in the monastery church of Diessen. Acquired
by the Cleveland Museum of Art, Holden Collection, 1946.
Plate 86
Neroccio de' Landi (1447-1500). "The Rapalano Altar," 5' 2" x 4' VA" '. From the Arthur Sachs
Collection, New York. Acquired by the Samuel H. Kress Foundation, 1943. Present collection: Na-
tional Gallery of Art, Washington, D.C., Samuel H. Kress Collection.
9i
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Italian, second half of 14th century. "The Holy Family Leaving Nazareth," drawing, 10%" x 10",
after the fresco attributed to Giotto in the Church of Saint Francis, Assisi. Acquired by the Pier-
pont Morgan Library, New York, 1939.
Plate 89
Hans Memling (1430/35-1494). "Madonna and Child Enthroned," 28W'xl9W. From the Mor-
timer L. Schiff Collection, New York. Acquired by the Nelson Gallery- Atkins Museum (Nelson
Fund), Kansas City, Missouri, 1944.
Plate 90
Gustave Courbet (1819-1877). "La Grand-Mere," 1862, 36"x283/4". Acquired by the Minneapolis
Institute of Arts, the William H. Dunwoody Fund, 1940.
Plate 91
Claude Monet (1840-1926). "Madame Paul, Patissiere a Pourville," 1881, 25%"x2U6". Acquired
by Mrs. Maurice Wertheim, New York, 1955. Present collection: The Fogg Art Museum, Harvard
University. Maurice Wertheim Bequest.
Plate 92
Pablo Picasso (1881- ). "Head of a Boy," 1905, 12%6" x 9%". From the collection of Gertrude
Stein. Acquired by Leonard C. Hanna, Jr., Cleveland, 1937. Present collection: The Cleveland
Museum of Art. Bequest of Leonard C. Hanna, Jr.
Plate 93
Pierre-Auguste Renoir (1841-1919). "Portrait of Mademoiselle Laeaux," 1864, 31%"x25&". Ac-
quired by the Cleveland Museum of Art. Gift of Hanna Fund, 1942.
Plate 94a
Pablo Picasso (1881- ). "Cubist Composition," 1911, 29%" x 39%". From the collection
of former Governor and Mrs. W. Averell Harriman, New York. Acquired by private collec-
tion, Cincinnati, 1944.
Plate 94b
Juan Gris (1887-1927). "Portrait of Pi-
casso," 1912, 36y4" x 28%". Acquired by
Leigh B. Block, Chicago, 1949. Present
collection: The Art Institute of Chicago.
Gift of Leigh B. Block.
» u u
-^ o-c
Plate 96a
Henri Matisse (1869-1954). "Carnaval de Nice," 25%"x39}4'
Acquired by Emil Biihrle, Zurich, 1951.
Plate 96b
Raoul Dufy (1877-1953). "Port du Havre," 1906, 23y2"x28%". Acquired by the Art Gal-
lery of Toronto. Gift of the Woman's Committee Fund to commemorate the Golden Jubilee
of the Art Gallery of Toronto, 1953.
Some Collectors
received them at my gallery when Walters walked in. Immediately
enchanted with them, he asked for the price.
"I've only just bought them, Mr. Walters, and I find them particu-
larly lovely. I'll tell you what I paid for them, but," I added jokingly,
"I do want a big profit."
Whereupon he offered me, spontaneously, a larger sum than I
would have asked.
On another occasion, in 1928, I had just reacquired the famous
Triumph of Amphitrite, also by Boucher, which had originally been
in the Wallace-Bagatelle Collection. Its purchaser then was Baron
Eugene de Rothschild of Vienna who had come to Paris to live after
the war and found his charming house in Passy too small to do justice
to this monumental canvas. Thus, it was once more available in the
place from whence it had come fourteen years earlier. Though carried
out in a somewhat sketchier manner than the Bouchers of Hertford
House in London, it must have been originally a part of this same
series, and its unachieved character gives an interesting insight into
the artist's technique. Opulent and impressive, it is a painting which
personifies the lavish life of the 18th century and the sumptuous
homes of Boucher's patrons.
The painting had been at Sagan but a few weeks, when I received
the visit of Henry Walters. I realized that it was too large for a private
house, so it was in his capacity of Trustee of the Metropolitan Museum
that I showed it to him. A painting of its unique and superb quality
should go, I felt, to a museum.
He was obviously stirred by the painting, but after a few minutes
of hesitation, he said that in view of his knowledge of available funds
he did not think he could recommend the purchase; the museum
could not afford it, and the price was too high.
He let me absorb this disappointing and unexpected statement,
for he seldom questioned prices and the sum asked was not out of
line considering the merit of the painting. Then, with a twinkle in
his eye, he added, "But if the Trustees will accept it, I'll give it to the
museum." This was typical, both of his sometimes teasing sense of
humor and of his generous civic spirit. I was so impressed that I in
turn felt called upon to make a gesture. Since I had a partner in the
ownership of the painting, I could not reduce the selling price,
but instead I asked to be allowed to make my own personal contribu-
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MERCHANTS OF ART
tion to the gift. When the picture was accepted by the museum,
Henry Walters saw to it that my name also appeared as a donor and
benefactor, a delicate gesture typical of him.
If he was capable of such beaux gestes, he could also be realistic
about the art world, as I learned through another encounter. The
news had been bruited about Paris that the famous Gustave Dreyfus
Collection of Italian sculptures, which I had known and admired since
my student days, could now be bought. I, of course, was intensely
interested. After some inquiries, a price was indicated to me, and
while it was considerable, it was not beyond the value of so excep-
tional a collection. But, alas, it was definitely beyond the funds I then
had available. In accordance with my father's principle of never bor-
rowing, I realized that there was no hope of my acquiring it alone.
Was there not some other way of financing the transaction? If, for
instance, I could find an immediate buyer for a part of the collection,
could I not with those funds swing the rest?
It was with such a thought in mind that I called upon Henry Wal-
ters at the Hotel Ritz and explained my problem to him. He knew the
collection well and understood my eagerness, for there were many
collectors and museums who would compete for certain of the rare
and beautiful pieces.
"But if you don't have the funds and don't want to borrow, how
do you propose to finance the purchase?" he asked.
"It is for that I have come to you, Mr. Walters," I said, "With your
help, it might be feasible to get together two or three museums, giving
them first choice ..." I went on to explain the details of my plan.
He heard me through, then said, "My boy, keen as I am to see the
Dreyfus Collection come to the States, don't ask me to get several
museums together with any expectation of their agreeing on any-
thing. It can't be done; I've tried it before, and it just won't work."
Thus, having no more ideas, I had to forget the Dreyfus Collection.
Paris in the late spring was the time and place for Henry Walters
to devote himself to collecting. Then he was relaxed and carefree, a
combination he seldom enjoyed in New York. Talking recently with
one of my long-time associates, I was amused to find that his principal
recollection of Henry Walters was that Thanksgiving Day was tradi-
tionally devoted to showing him works of art in the New York gallery.
I used to drop in occasionally at the Walters' home on Sunday morn-
ing after church or in the afternoon for tea and a chat with the two of
136
Some Collectors
them. He would sit back and reminisce, especially about his sojourn
in Paris as a young man when he had seen the Empress Eugenie in
full regalia and beauty. What days, what evolutions and revolutions
he had seen, and with what serenity and happiness he enjoyed the
sunset.
One of the first things I did upon my return to New York from Paris
after my father's death was to telephone Thomas Fortune Ryan to
ask if I might return his call. I was invited to breakfast at eight, a
favorite appointment hour with him, as with a number of business-
men-collectors. We chatted about my plans, and he seemed pleased
to hear that I intended to continue the business along the old lines,
keeping Sagan and the New York gallery. He had almost ceased to
collect, though he did purchase a few items from me, notably a rare,
large Limoges plate a paillons from the collection of the Duke of S axe-
Weimar which he particularly cherished.
Quite aside from business, I enjoyed these breakfast chats with
Ryan for their own sake, and the light which they threw on the man.
One such morning, having noticed in the evening paper of the day be-
fore an article about some new development in the tobacco industry, I
asked his reaction to it. His reply was to laugh heartily and to say,
"Don't go believing everything printed in the daily papers. News can
be inspired, you know." From which I gathered that he was probably
the inspiration.
However, on another occasion when I commented on a news item
about sugar in Cuba, he surprised me by seeming to have forgotten
his previous warning and discussed the matter with apparent trust in
the newspaper account. It was strange, I thought, that even men of
his experience sometimes failed to apply to other fields the rules
which held good in their own.
I always found tremendously interesting the stories told me from
time to time by these builders of gigantic industrial empires in the
America of the late 19th century. Listening to them was like hearing
a fantastic novel given added intensity and color by the excitement of
their voices as they recalled experiences of earlier days. Most of them
were still physically and mentally powerful despite advancing years,
and I could understand how and why they had been so successful in
their earlier years. Nothing, it seemed to me, could have resisted such
indomitable men.
137
MERCHANTS OF ART
None of the giants I knew rivaled Henry E. Huntington: the word
describes him literally as well as figuratively. He was as tall as
Thomas F. Ryan, many inches over six feet, but was broad of shoulder
and massive in build, whereas Ryan was lean and slender. The last
time I saw Huntington was in the course of a visit to California in
1926, when I called on him at his magnificent home in San Marino,
now the museum. He was already a very sick man and was abed when
I arrived; but he knew that I was to be in Los Angeles for only a few
hours and insisted upon keeping the appointment, though his nurse
told me I must not stay long. His bedroom on the second floor was as
simple and unadorned as the ground floor was sumptuous. The bed-
room windows opened on a sea of palm trees through which drifted
the scent of orange and lemon. This was my first visit to California,
and it seemed truly an Eden where the beauty of nature vied with
the aesthetic creations of man. I told Huntington of my amazement
at the beauty of California, of my trip to Mount Shasta, of my delight
in San Francisco, and spoke of the places I hoped to see on my way
back to New York. The conversation came around to the subject of
railroads, and then Huntington became animated, despite his illness.
In connection with one stop I had made, he said that it was where he
had his first experience at breaking a strike.
He grew excited by the memory as he lapsed into railroad vernac-
ular, punctuating his account with colorful expletives. The incident
took place when he was twenty. He had arrived early one morning at
the office of the station master to find a crowd of men shouting and
gesticulating, the leader declaring belligerently that "No train leaves
this station today!"
" Ts that so?' says I," Huntington said, "and I pulled out the two
pistols I carried and, says I, 'I'll take this train out of here myself, and
the first s.o.b. who tries to stop me is a dead man.' And I got on the
engine and took that bankety-blank train out of the station!"
By this time Huntington's voice was a roar, his eyes flashing as he
relived the scene. It seemed to me then that H. E. Huntington at
twenty, with or without pistols, must surely have been a man with
whom no one would have cared to fight.
Arabella Huntington, who had married Henry Huntington some
years after the death of her first husband, Collis P. Huntington
( Henry's uncle ) , had died before my California visit. Shortly before
her death she had called at Sagan. She had just dropped in to say
138
Some Collectors
hello, she said, as she was no longer in a buying mood and had every-
thing she wanted to own. She was almost seventy by that time, but
still carried her unusual height with a splendid bearing. I seated her
in one of the rooms opening onto the garden where we chatted for a
while and then, with no thought other than to please her, I showed
her a number of objects of a type which I knew she enjoyed, among
them a delightful little marble Venus by Falconet.
Looking at me somewhat reproachfully through thick-lensed
glasses, she said, "You really shouldn't go to so much trouble for me.
You know my sight has become so bad that I can hardly see anything."
Whereupon she leaned forward for a closer view of the little figure,
not a foot high over all, and exclaimed, "What a lovely thing. Isn't it
a shame that the little finger on the left hand is broken!"
I couldn't help bursting into laughter, as I congratulated her on
her bad eyesight, for the whole hand was certainly not over a half
inch long. Almost before I did, she threw her head back in a hearty
laugh. Then she asked what I wanted for it, adding quickly that, of
course, she was not buying, but liked to keep up with these things.
When I named a figure, she bought it.
D. David- Weill, head of one of the leading private banks of Europe,
the internationally known firm of Lazard Freres, had been a long-
time friend and client of my father. From my early days I remember
calling with my father, usually on Sunday morning, at his classically
beautiful Louis XVI house in its well-ordered garden setting. Its very
location was in the tradition, just beyond the gates of Paris, which
still existed then, not far from the Bois de Boulogne in that lovely
quarter of Neuilly which was a favorite location for the folies of the
past. The entrance was through a sober white stone hall, ornamented
by only a few sculptures whose proportions were in scale with its
great height, its severity relieved by the warmth of a rich Savonnerie
carpet which ran the length of the hall and up the splendid stairway.
One of the sculptures was the Grande V estate of Clodion which came
from my father, as did the bronze portrait bust of the architect,
Robert de Cotte, by Coysevox. Another was the beautiful marble bust
of the Marquise de Jaucourt by Houdon. The reception rooms on the
ground floor opened to the garden by full-length windows. Here were
the choicest items of the collection — the Fragonards (among them
one of his most beloved and best known portraits, the Boy with the
139
MERCHANTS OF ART
Cherries, also from my father ) , the Bouchers, and the Perronneaus —
a veritable museum enhanced by human life and living. Later, a
recess was built onto the dining room to display the all-but-unique
collection of French silver which included not only precious ex-
amples of the 18th century, but even more rare, superb pieces from
the 17th century.
David- Weill's appreciation was tactile as well as visual, and he was
especially fond of the precious bibelots of gold, silver, and bronze in
which the 18th century artisans so excelled, the tiny boxes for every
conceivable purpose to delight the heart of man or woman. The most
precious of them were displayed in two fine Louis XVI vitrines in the
drawing room, but upstairs in the petites appartements, others were
within easy reach of the caressing hand. Here the furniture was ex-
quisitely scaled to the smaller rooms, and the warm old boiseries set
off to perfection the delightful drawings and gouaches by the petits
maitres, all of surpassing quality.
To collectors like David- Weill, 18th century French art was more
than just a tradition, evidenced today only by what remains of its
great architecture, painting, and sculpture; it was a symbol of classi-
cal training in the humanities. They reacted not only to the outward
manifestations of sheer plastic beauty, but also to the inward mean-
ing of the 18th century genius — its literature, its philosophy, its code
of manners — an appeal in which they could lose themselves at will.
David-Weill never allowed this absorption with tradition to blind
him to the beauties of other periods and other countries. An exhibi-
tion held in homage to him after his death in 1952 numbered almost
a thousand objects which he had either given to or helped to buy for
the museums of France. They were by no means all French or all 18th
century. He was one of the first Western collectors to discover the
sober beauty of Chinese archaic bronzes and potteries, building up a
superb collection which now enriches the Musee Guimet. And it was
he who prompted and organized in 1928 the first exhibition of Pre-
Columbian art to be held in Paris.
A fact of considerable interest in the evolution of collection is that
David-Weill eventually deserted the 18th century to turn toward
French painting of the 19th. This was a departure, indeed, for a man
so steeped in tradition and explains the breaking up of his great col-
lection from which many items found their way to museums and
private collections in the United States. He never went all the way
140
Some Collectors
to a clean sweep, as had Jacques Doucet, and although some of the
Fragonards, the Bouchers, and the Perronneaus gave way to Renoir,
Degas, and even Cezanne, his home contained until his death evi-
dences of his first love.
I saw more of David- Weill during my father's lifetime than in later
years, and I never felt that I really knew him as a person, only as a col-
lector. Aside from the fact that I was spending a great deal of time in
the States, I feel sure that this was partly my own fault. David- Weill
was a man of considerable reserve, perhaps even of innate shyness;
I, as the son taking over the position of a dynamic father, undoubtedly
also felt a certain diffidence. Thus with reserve meeting reserve, I
seemed never able to draw forth the warmth of feeling and enthusi-
asm which I am sure was there. One does not collect great works of
art without it. Nevertheless, the firm was always on his calling list
for occasional drop-ins and if I telephoned or wrote him of some
object or exhibition which I felt would interest him, he invariably
replied or came within a day or so. Over the years he continued to
acquire works of art from me which I was happy to see again at
Neuilly on occasional visits.
I recall particularly his visit to Sagan at the time of the exhibition
of the Philippe Wiener Collection. He went around slowly, carefully
examining the paintings, the drawings, and the exquisite bibelots,
made his choice, asked for the prices and simply said that he wished
to have them. There was no bargaining, no discussion, and the pur-
chase was concluded with few words. He recognized the interest of
the pieces he had chosen, and I realized that it would make little sense
for me to try to impress him with the quality of those he had neg-
lected.
It may have been that this seeming austerity was the defense of
a naturally retiring man faced with many public demands. Though
he played an important role in finance of the period, particularly
during the crisis following World War I, his name seldom appeared
in the public press. He was from early life a dedicated philanthropist
and actively continued the foundation for low-cost housing for
workers which his parents had begun. He founded, with Andre Hon-
norat, the great international housing project for foreign students
known as the Cite Universitaire. In addition, he was for twenty- two
years the hard-working, progressive president of the Committee of
French Museums, a member of the Institut, and a Grand Oficier of
141
MERCHANTS OF ART
the Legion of Honor. It was only after his death that the general pub-
lic realized the full extent of his gifts to the nation. He was truly one
who believed that the pleasure and privilege of possessing money
and works of art carries with it the pleasure and duty of sharing them.
His son, Pierre, who follows his father as a partner of Lazard Freres,
has kept up the tradition of philanthropy and, among other activities,
is an energetic trustee of the Cite Universitaire. His other son, Jean,
on the other hand, has perhaps inherited more of his father's interest
in aesthetic matters, and is Curator of Near Eastern Art at the Louvre
and a professor at the Ecole du Louvre.
George Blumenthal, an American partner of Lazard Freres, had
been since early youth a close friend of my father, and the warmth of
that affection was a heritage passed on to me. Whatever his engage-
ments, he always found time to see me, either at my galleries or at
his home. I rarely visited his downtown office, unless the matter was
urgent. He liked to make his appointments with me for nine or nine-
fifteen in the morning, and kept one eye on the clock throughout. The
time ordinarily allotted me was about fifteen minutes, and if I knew
that the topic I wished to discuss might take longer, I would tell him
in advance, since his appointments were always carefully planned.
But these were business meetings, and it was often my privilege to be
in the Blumenthal home simply as a friend.
By 1920, the house on which Florence Blumenthal had been work-
ing for several years with such love and care was completed. The
rather austere, almost forbidding, Italian Renaissance structure at
the southwest corner of 70th Street and Park Avenue revealed little
to the passerby. Once inside, the impression of austerity was replaced
by a world of the imagination, far from the material bustle of New
York. It was a dreamlike oasis of beauty, complete with melodious
sound from the running water of the patio fountain, often the only
sound of greeting. At dusk, the light from a table-lamp opposite the
entrance gave to the high, wide court a quality at once eerie and in-
timate, as it reduced the proportions and picked up the warmth of
blooming flowers, green plants, and colorful oriental rugs. It is dif-
ficult to explain how so sumptuous and impressive a house could be
so intimate; this was but one of the achievements of an extraordinary
woman.
The first and second floors were devoted to formal reception rooms.
142
Some Collectors
From the patio, with its royal pair of Pannemaker tapestries, one
passed into the ballroom, a later addition built only after a complete
set of 18th century flower-strewn tapestries had been found to cover
its long walls. The focal point of the long axis was a marble Orpheus
by Francheville, since attributed to Cristofano da Bracciano and be-
lieved to be part of a group made for the Palazzo Corsi.
On the floor above was the great Gothic hall, built specifically for
three great works of art: the magnificently simple fireplace which
determined the proportions of the whole; a gay and secular 15th cen-
tury mille fleurs tapestry depicting a hawking party on the opposite
wall; and a marble Virgin and Child by Pisano which occupied a
special niche in the linen-fold paneling of the smaller wall. On the
same floor was a larger Renaissance salon whose velvet-hung walls
served as a background for most of the paintings of earlier date. Here,
too, were the monumental Venetian bronze andirons from the Spitzer
and Taylor Collections. The formal dining room, where the magnifi-
cent Charlemagne tapestry was the piece de resistance, was also on
the second floor, with a smaller family dining room on the third floor.
There, with the exception of George Blumenthal's den, the decora-
tion was entirely of the 18th century, reminiscent, in its charm and
intimacy, of the petits appartements of a French royal chateau.
There was perfection in each detail of the house, a perfection which
went beyond the works of art. Every bouquet of flowers or potted
plant, appropriate in color, size, and kind, was chosen for its ap-
pointed place; service was at the elbow before a wish was expressed,
but so unobtrusive as to be almost invisible. The food, the wines, the
linens, the table service were flawless. It, of course, took an enormous
amount of concentration and work to maintain such perfection, but
this never intruded on the enjoyment of it.
Florence Blumenthal moved about like a fairy-tale princess, small
and dainty, with delicate hands and feet. In the evening, she often
wore Renaissance velvet gowns, in dark jewel-like colors which not
only enhanced her beauty but gave her an air of having been born
to this superb environment where every work of art seemed tune-
lessly at home. She actually lived among the treasures, as it had been
intended one should; while seated in one of the low, comfortable
chairs, she could let a hand stroke the cool marble of a small sculp-
tured head or the sharp edges of an ivory diptych on a nearby table.
They were there to be touched, and if an occasional piece like the
143
MERCHANTS OF ART
Hispano-Moresque plate, one of the earliest known, remained under
glass, the rest were simply there, as by happy accident.
This superb aesthetic efflorescence had had its birth in tragedy.
Florence and George Blumenthal had lost their only child, George,
when he was eleven. The shock of his death, added to the knowledge
that she could never bear another child, left Mrs. Blumenthal in such
despair that every means was employed to create new interests for
her. Chief among them was travel, with long stays in Italy and France.
Gradually her innate taste and love of beauty was reawakened.
Guided by special tutors, she plunged into a serious study of the
history of art. By the time she began to develop her ideas for the New
York house, she had acquired real knowledge to complement a nat-
ural bent.
Mrs. Blumenthal diffused about her a sense of refinement which
made natural for her a setting which might have seemed theatrical
for another. It inspired her visitors. Talk was never high-pitched, and
the subject of conversation was apt to be in keeping with the atmos-
phere, serious and scholarly, or gay and witty. The company was
always stimulating and never banal.
Florence's interests, however, were not limited to the world of the
past. She took an active part in the development of new talents, creat-
ing in Paris a series of scholarships for gifted and promising young
artists in need of the financial and moral encouragement her patron-
age could give. She had hardly completed the Park Avenue house,
when she started another in Paris; but grandiose as was the New
York mansion, correspondingly small and intimate was the French
home. It recalled the charming folies built about 18th century Paris
by ladies and gentlemen of the court. The drawing room of the Paris
house, with full-length windows facing the park on two sides, was
designed to contain a Louis XVI boiserie. The furnishings were on
the same scale, blending in tone and proportion. As befitted the at-
mosphere, the walls were hung with drawings, water colors, and
small oils. Where chaste white lilies were the flowers becoming the
Gothic room in New York, in Paris there were bowls filled with roses
and spring flowers — still perfection, but of a more intimate kind.
Though he would never have admitted it later, I believe that
George Blumenthal did not feel, initially, the same enthusiasm as did
Florence for these aesthetic extravagances. But it was not long until
he, too, was infected by the atmosphere. How could a man of sensi-
144
Some Collectors
tivity and education resist such an environment, especially when
praise and recognition came to him from all directions? His study on
the top floor, overlooking the corner of Park Avenue and 70th Street,
was an indication of his own interest and appreciation. Its walls were
adorned with one of the most precious gold and silver woven tapes-
tries of the early 16th century, a great Crucifixion which, like Mor-
gan's, had come from the collection of the Dukes of Berwick and
Alba; with two exquisite French Renaissance masculine portraits by
Corneille de Lyon; with a painting by El Greco and another by Cima
da Conegliano. Behind his desk, on a shelf above his books and rec-
ords, were precious ivories, Renaissance bronzes, and small, early,
exquisite wood carvings.
His first important purchase for me, after my father's death, was
the famous Adoration of the Magi by Joos van Gent, which had
come from the Chapel of the Dukes of Frias, near Burgos in Spain,
and is the most important composition in America by this exceedingly
rare master. It hung in the patio on the ground floor, which was not
an ideal place for it, and Florence always promised to move it; but
unfortunately failing health in her later years prevented her from
giving her usual assiduous attention to details. Nor had she many
years to enjoy the splendors she had created, for she passed away in
1930.
George Blumenthal became President of the Board of Trustees of
the Metropolitan Museum in 1934, after having served as a member
of that Board since 1909. He was not a man to accept so great a re-
sponsibility without planning to give it all necessary time and devo-
tion, which he did superbly for seven years. This was a side of his
life which might be considered an indulgence of personal taste, but
he also served on the Board of Mount Sinai hospital for forty-six
years, twenty-seven of them as its President. After his retirement
from business in 1925, he devoted half of his day to each of his two
beloved projects. His philanthropies to Mount Sinai are well known;
less so is the personal interest he took in deserving individuals who
stood in need of assistance. He remained a hard worker until a few
weeks before his death in 1941, and he brooked no laxity in fellow-
members of the boards he directed, unequivocally reminding late-
comers that it was a business meeting and not a social gathering.
A man of daring in business, and a highly successful banker, he was,
like so many men of his kind, difficult to argue with, and had little
145
MERCHANTS OF ART
inclination to waste time listening to all sorts of stories. I had grown
to know, however, from association with great collectors, that they
often purposely adopted a negative attitude. They reasoned that
should a man be keen enough about his subject, an unresponsive
audience would not discourage him; it would rather make him extend
himself to reinforce his position and convince his listener. This trait
of the collector I sometimes found trying. It was not that these men
doubted my word or good faith; it was simply that on that particular
day at that particular moment, resentful perhaps at the thought of
being believed a pushover, which none of them ever was, they had
to be sold, even though the object in question might have interested
them from the start.
It was not easy, however, to persist when faced by men of this
caliber, especially when the tone of voice and its implied finality of-
fered so little encouragement. Because their collecting was a diver-
sion and a pleasure, rather than a business, I think they sometimes
took an especial joy in applying these tactics to art matters. I still re-
call vividly an encounter of this kind with George Blumenthal.
It was in connection with a superb French Gothic marble sculpture
of the 14th century which I had succeeded in acquiring from a Ger-
man museum only after many months of negotiation and a number
of journeys, involving a great deal of time, patience, and expense.
The piece had just arrived in the United States, and the risks of trans-
port across the ocean for so fragile a thing had added their share of
anxiety to the considerable nervous energy already expended. More-
over, it was an acquisition which not only filled me with pride, but
was a work of art about which I was personally enthusiastic. Thus, it
was definitely a shock when George Blumenthal, to whom I showed
it first, told me rather brusquely that he would not be interested, as
he did not think it would add much to his collection. I was so unpre-
pared for this answer, and so hurt (it was like having a dearly be-
loved child slighted ) that I answered rather sharply. I, of course, re-
gretted it at once, for not only did I value his friendship highly, but
he was a much older man. I told him that he certainly had nothing like
it in his collection and, what was more, there was nothing like it in
the Metropolitan. After further discussion, he somewhat grudgingly
agreed to consider it, and did eventually buy it, not for himself but for
the Museum. Several months later when paying a visit to the former
Musee de Sculpture Comparee in the Trocadero (now called the
146
Some Collectors
Musee des Monuments Fran§ais), I discovered, among the casts of
great French monuments in that marvelous study collection, one of
this very statue and with it the information that it had originally come
from a church near Rheims. This, of course, added considerable in-
terest to the statue, and when I reported it to George Blumenthal, he
remembered our argument, and confessed that he had admired it
immediately, but just wanted to see to what extent I was enthusiastic
about it.
From the start, dealings between George Blumenthal and myself
had been put on a simple basis — there was to be no bargaining. I
would name a price at once, whether he had evinced an interest or
not; should he be tempted and find the price justified, he would pur-
chase it; if he thought it too high, he would leave it. I cannot recall a
single instance in which there was any discussion about price, even
though at times I had to admit that I might have paid too much for a
certain object which I had been unable to resist.
Already in 1927, George Blumenthal had established a fund of a
million dollars for the Metropolitan Museum, and in his will he left
to that institution all the works of art in his collection which dated
from before 1720. It had been his intention to bequeath his house,
as it stood, to the museum, to be kept intact as an auxiliary branch.
But his years of Trusteeship had given him a thorough understanding
of the maintenance problems involved in the running of a modern
museum, and he changed his mind. Instead, the house was ordered
dismantled and sold for the benefit of the museum, with the patio,
the boiseries, stained glass, and all such architectural features to be
retained by the museum, and installed when and how it saw fit. Out-
side of a request that the collection be exhibited together for a few
months, there were no restrictions placed on the museum's use of
them, showing an understanding rare among such benefactors.
George Blumenthal was among the group of clients and old friends
who lent from their collections to a major exhibition of religious art in
the spring of 1927. Organized for the benefit of the Basilica of the
Sacre Coeur in Paris and sponsored by Their Eminences Louis Car-
dinal Dubois, Archbishop of Paris, and Patrick Cardinal Hayes, Arch-
bishop of New York, it was one of the most beautiful exhibitions we
ever held. Among the treasured objects which contributed to its
success was Arthur Sach's lovely 14th century Annunciation panel,
147
MERCHANTS OF ART
Clarence Mackay's beautiful Verrocchio Madonna and Child and
great Mantegna Adoration which is now in the Metropolitan; and
Mortimer Schiff, Harold Pratt, and Blumenthal lent their rarest tap-
estries and a stunning group of enamels. Among the sculptures, one
of the most beautiful, a moving French Gothic stone head of the Sor-
rowing Christ, came not from one of the firm's old friends, but from
a new one, Grenville L. Winthrop. I was especially touched at his
decision to lend it because it was his firmly established policy never
to lend to an exhibition.
Grenville Winthrop was one of a small group of collectors whom
I have always classified in my mind as "perfectionists," using that
word in its most complimentary sense. The first time I visited him,
he was still living on East 37th Street, not far from the J. P. Morgan
home. I had written to him, asking if I might call. His reply came
within forty-eight hours and was written in longhand. During many
years of a most pleasant relationship, neither I, personally, nor my
firm ever received from him a typewritten note, although he was an
exceedingly busy attorney. I understand that the Fogg Museum, to
which he eventually left his collection, has a large file of correspond-
ence from him, not one letter of which is typewritten. He was a gen-
tleman of the old school and to him collecting was not a business
matter, but a pleasure.
Beauty, perfection, and learning constituted the credo by which he
collected. He was as fastidious about the matting and framing of his
superb water colors and drawings and their appearance on his walls
as he was about their quality. And he was indeed particular about
this, for quality was his primary concern. I have never known a man
quite like him. There was no field of art which failed to interest him.
His knowledge embraced all countries and periods with a seemingly
equal enthusiasm, yet I doubt if he ever bought a work of art solely
because he himself liked it; each was destined to fill a lacuna in a
sequence essentially pertinent to a specific school or artist. He was
by no means cold to the beauty and humanity of great works of art.
It was rather that he collected with a rare combination of aesthetic
and didactic purpose. From an educational point of view, his collec-
tion constitutes a unique ensemble of unique series, each composed
of perfect and representative examples. I learned only much later
that he had a definite goal and had gathered his treasures with the
148
Some Collectors
intent of eventually presenting them to some great public institution.
In what field Grenville Winthrop began his collecting, I am not
sure, but probably among the Italian primitives, some of which were
not up to the standard of later acquisitions. I do know that the group
of Blake water colors and drawings, the magnificent paintings and
drawings by Ingres, unique in quality and number on this side of the
ocean, as well as the series of paintings by Chasseriau and Bonington,
two rare artists, were built up simultaneously. The first painting he
purchased from my firm was a portrait of Napoleon in Coronation
Robes, Jacques Louis David's preliminary study for the larger version,
from the Wallace-Bagatelle Collection. He later added to his group
of Ingres subjects the magnificent drawing of the Family of Lucien
Bonaparte. The pedigree of the latter, by the way, is a fascinating
attestation of the international character of works of art. My firm
acquired this French drawing from a Danish client, who had chanced
on it in a Swedish collection, whence it had come from its original
owners, the family of the Italian architect, Charles Bonaparte
Primoli. Now it has found its permanent home in an American
museum.
When Winthrop moved to 81st Street, he organized his large house
into a veritable private museum, but it was one in which students
and art lovers were always welcome. The great surprise which he
always reserved for the climax of a first tour was the collection of Pre-
Raphaelite paintings, unequalled outside England and little known
in this country. He took great delight in showing them, and one real-
ized anew the high degree of knowledge and understanding of this
extraordinary collector. With the Pre-Raphaelites as with the Blakes,
the literary association was very important to him, for it rounded out
a cultural pattern.
Current fashions in collecting carried no weight with Grenville
Winthrop, though one might except the Portrait of Choquet by Re-
noir. Even this was only a half-exception, however, for in the back-
ground of the portrait is a painting by Delacroix, thus establishing a
link with the past through the admiration of the great Impressionist
for the great Romanticist — again teaching value. The fact that the
works of a certain artist might temporarily be neglected failed to
influence him. Witness his devotion to the almost forgotten Pre-
Raphaelites and his acquisition from me of the luxuriously big and
colorful Gustave Moreau which he proudly displayed on his stairway.
149
MERCHANTS OF ART
Nor could pressure be exerted. So much could be said in favor of a
work of art, but no more. One could explain one's point of view as to
its value to his collection, but if Greenville Winthrop's interest was
not stirred by the object itself — and one could always tell — it was
unwise to add another word. He knew precisely what he wanted and
his taste and knowledge supported him abundantly.
150
CHAPTER XIII
Evolutions of the Twenties
y visits to the United States in the early twenties had
revealed a further evolution in collecting. The new
trend was not only toward paintings in general, but more and more
toward French paintings of the late 19th century, the Impressionists
and Post-Impressionists and, in the mid-twenties, toward the contem-
porary movements, the Fauves, the Cubists, the whole School of
Paris, with all its new and exciting creativity.
The trend had begun to manifest itself in both France and Amer-
ica before World War I. As early as 1910 some of the first-rank
French collectors, not just youngsters whose immature enthusiasm
might be held responsible for so radical a change, began to take an
active interest in the so-called moderns. No less a collector than
Jacques Doucet, the internationally known couturier who had spent
several decades amassing a superb collection of French 18th century
art objects, suddenly disposed of it at auction in 1912. The catalogue
of the sale of paintings, drawings, sculptures, and furniture is still a
guide to what is best in that period and a memorial to his exquisite
taste. The news of the approaching auction caused a sensation in
Paris and started all sorts of rumors about the reasons for it and what
he intended to do with the reported two million dollars of profit.
The public was not long left in doubt. Jacques Doucet, pillar of tra-
dition, was buying "modern" paintings.
Further, just to make a clean sweep, he moved from his formal
house with its beautiful old hoiseries, to a newly built one in Neuilly
which he decorated with his customary taste to fit the new collection.
In the more traditional rooms on the ground floor he hung the Dau-
miers, Manets, Degases, Van Goghs, and Cezannes. Then he con-
151
MERCHANTS OF ART
structed a long gallery especially for the more important of the con-
temporaries, with the powerful Demoiselles d' Avignon of Picasso
occupying the place of honor on a small landing approach, set off by
a wrought-iron framework. In the gallery itself, the big Charmeuse
de Serpents of Douanier Rousseau held the center wall with the
smaller works ranged about it. Pierre Legrain, who designed the iron-
work, arranged the lighting and decorated the gallery, was by then
generally recognized as one of Paris's finest artiste-decor ateurs,
thanks in large part to Doucet's unerring eye for young talent. In
Legrain's leaner days, Doucet had entrusted to him the binding of
his entire library. The exquisite results in tooled and gilded leathers
are now collector's items.
Thus, in one remarkable step, Jacques Doucet encompassed two
full cycles of the evolution of painting, from the Impressionists to the
Cubists. It was the more astounding if one considers that he was well
along in years; in fact, he died too soon to witness the full public ac-
claim and official recognition which came to the artists whose talents
he had so correctly gauged.
Nor was Doucet a solitary example. There was Count Isaac de
Camondo, whose collection, now in the Louvre, was somewhat flor-
idly described in a Paris art journal as a symphony, with French 18th
century as allegro, the medieval as adagio, the Orient as scherzo, and
the modern, "by turns feverish and dreamy," the finale. Still an-
other case was that of Auguste Pellerin who began by assembling a
superb group of thirty paintings by Manet. Then, feeling that he
had outgrown his taste for this artist, who was still considered quite
advanced in many circles, Pellerin sold them in 1910 and began
to devote himself exclusively to Cezanne, at that time a most contro-
versial artist.
These departures from the collecting traditions are particularly
startling if one understands at all the psychology of the Frenchman,
at once a conservative and a realist, an individualist and a traditional-
ist. Due to his background and education, he has a far greater interest
in the art of his proud past than in the art of his present. Revolutions
of this type were rare. France was actually sadly remiss in both public
and official recognition of her geniuses of the 19th and early 20th cen-
turies. The examples of a Doucet, a Pellerin, or an Isaac de Camondo
do not prove the foresight of the French collector; they serve only to
152
Evolutions of the Twenties
point out how strong the new movements were in making headway
even in France, essentially so conservative.
When the French today plead the impossibility of competing with
American dollars to excuse the relative dearth of Impressionist and
Post- Impressionist works in their public collections, they are anxious
to forget the right of priority they actually had. In the years before
World War I, when French collectors and French museums might
have had these treasures almost for the asking, a small but persistent
group of American collectors, actively aided and abetted by a smaller
and even more persistent group of American artists, were purchasing
the paintings which form the basis of the great American public col-
lections of today. Mrs. Potter Palmer in Chicago and Mrs. Henry O.
Havemeyer in New York, both spurred on by Mary Cassatt, already
had made enviable collections of Impressionist paintings before the
turn of the century, and they did not cease to buy during the ensuing
years. John Quinn, the brilliant attorney, began his championship of
contemporary artists and writers in the early years of the century. At
his death in 1924, his collection contained some fifty Picassos, and it
is thanks to his will that the Louvre has its only major work of Seurat,
the great Circus. A. E. Gallatin and Walter Arensberg whose collec-
tions are now in the Philadelphia Museum; John T. Spalding in
Boston; Frederic Clay Bartlett and Martin Ryerson in Chicago; Miss
Katherine Dreier, who formed the Societe Anonyme in 1917, had
already been buying for a number of years. The irascible Dr. Albert
C. Barnes in Philadelphia, Duncan Phillips in Washington, and Miss
Lillie P. Bliss whose collection was to form the nucleus of the Mu-
seum of Modern Art, all began their collecting before 1920, many
before 1910.
If this roster is impressive, it should be remembered, lest we be-
come too smug about American perceptivity, that these were the ex-
ceptions, truly the avant garde, and that there were degrees of daring
even among them. Actually, in the evolution of collecting taste in the
United States, the average buyer before 1914 did not venture far. A
press note of 1910 announced that a group of "modern" paintings had
been left to the Metropolitan Museum; they consisted entirely of
works by Barbizon painters and 19th century academicians. Daumier
was perhaps eligible to the slightly less conventional collectors, along
with the romanticists, Delacroix and Gericault, or even the realist,
153
MERCHANTS OF ART
Courbet (Mrs. Havemeyer acquired the two great nudes of the Met-
ropolitan in the 1890's ) . Boudin and Manet were still more advanced,
while the typical Impressionists — Monet, Sisley, and Pissarro — were
positively daring, though a Monet exhibition at Durand-Ruel in 1910
was a definite success. From there it was not too difficult a step to
Renoir ( but not the late ones ) and Degas, but a new barrier was
raised before Cezanne, Lautrec ( largely on the grounds of subject ) ,
Gauguin, Van Gogh, and Seurat. The Carnegie International of 1911,
the Fifteenth, contained not a single Post-Impressionist, no Picasso,
and no Matisse.
The great landmark for the introduction of the Post- Impressionists
and the 20th century French artists to the American public was, of
course, the fabled Armory Show of 1913, undoubtedly one of the
most exciting events in the annals of art history. Yet, despite the tre-
mendous crowds, the enormous publicity, and the profound influence
it had on the future of American artistic production, there was still a
large segment of the public, not to mention the critics, who remained
unconvinced, even about Impressionism, much less the later move-
ments. An exhibition of Post-Impressionist paintings at the Metropol-
itan Museum in 1921, prompted by the prodding of John Quinn, Mrs.
Havemeyer, and Miss Bliss, who lent most of the paintings, drew an
excellent audience, but also critical letters to the press about de-
generate art and Bolshevik propaganda.
During the next twenty years it was a sort of relay race as the
leaders of the succeeding movements were recognized one by one,
not so much for their own achievements, but because each in turn
looked gentle and conservative beside the succeeding revolution of
style and color. If the tempo quickened in the forties and fifties and
public taste has come more nearly abreast of artistic creation, there
are still today collectors who acquire only contemporary paintings of
a certain traditionalism and who have considerable difficulty adjust-
ing to the great abstract paintings of forty years ago, the Picassos and
Braques of 1910 to 1912, for instance.
Nor can the dealers claim a much better record of pre- 19 14 con-
viction. If in Paris the Impressionists had their Durand-Ruel, the Post-
Impressionists their Vollard, and the Cubists their Kahnweiler, these
were the exceptions. By 1914 there was a lively international market
for the Impressionists and Post-Impressionists (the German dealers
154
Evolutions of the Twenties
and collectors were particularly active), but there was still only a
handful of galleries where one could see or buy works by the younger
men of the new movements. London had its first exhibition of Post-
Impressionists at the Grafton Gallery in 1910. In New York there had
been sporadic exhibitions of both Impressionists and Post-Impression-
ists and one could see representative works at a number of galleries,
but until the Armory Show, Alfred Stieglitz's Photo-Secession Gallery
was almost the sole exhibitor of the more revolutionary movements
of the 20th century. From then on the pattern of the dealer's interest
followed much the same evolution as that of the collector — sometimes
leading, sometimes following — with the early believers making the
pioneer efforts and the rest joining the procession as they conquered
their conservatism and were genuinely converted or as they realized
the potential of the rapidly growing demand.
My personal introduction to the so-called modern art came, curi-
ously enough, through the family dentist, who was Dr. Georges Viau.
His office, like that of most French professional men, was in his home.
As a youngster awaiting my turn, I could take my mind off the un-
pleasant moments ahead by studying the Manets, Degases, Renoirs,
and Cezannes which lined the walls of his waiting room. While I ad-
mired them tremendously, I would have been much astonished to be
told that twenty-odd years later I would be the purchaser of a number
of fine paintings from the estate of this great collector. I also had
access to the collection of Count Isaac de Camondo, where I could
admire the Manets, the Monets, and the superb Degases which are
now at the Jeu de Paume. As for the controversial younger artists,
the Fauves and the Cubists, I was only thirteen when Picasso painted
Les Demoiselles d' Avignon, often called the first Cubist painting.
When he and Braque were turning out their beautiful almost mono-
chromatic abstractions of the 1910-1912 period, I was collecting
photographs of the 19th century minor academicians. If I heard of
Picasso, Braque, and Matisse or saw any of their work in the years
before World War I, they made absolutely no impression on me. It
was only after the war that I began to take a serious interest in either
the Impressionists or their successors, an interest in part stimulated
by the beautiful series of seventy-one Degases which my father had
bought in the sales of the Atelier Degas in 1918. The results when he
put them up at auction in New York through the American Art Asso-
155
MERCHANTS OF ART
ciation in January, 1921, were not such as to encourage him further
along this line. The sale was not a financial triumph although the
collection contained such important paintings as La Fille de Jepthe
which is now in the Smith College Museum and the beautiful early
Mile. Fiocre dans le ballet de "La Source" in the Brooklyn Museum.
Nevertheless, my own interest was growing, and I spent as much time
as I could at exhibitions and in increasing my knowledge of the field.
When, in 1926, the New York firm was obliged to seek new quarters
because the E. H. Harriman house at 705 Fifth Avenue was to be
razed to make way for an office building, the house we took at 3 East
51st Street was large enough to give us display rooms for a variety of
periods. I determined to enter the fray on the side of the moderns.
However, the tradition of the firm had always rested on the art of the
past and since other members of the family, still silent partners, were
opposed to any change in this policy, I decided to set up a separate
organization on my own for this purpose. The new company, entirely
financed by my personal funds, was incorporated as De Hauke &
Company and headed by Cesar M. de Hauke, then a young man who
had come into the firm through his friendship with my cousin, Rene.
De Hauke had (and still has) very real interest in modern art and
excellent taste, of which I had seen convincing evidence in the works
he had chosen for his Paris home. The devotion he brought to his task
was a great factor in the success of the new venture, for succeed it
did, to such a point that the doubters of the family withdrew their
opposition to modern painting. Within a few years De Hauke & Com-
pany was integrated into the New York firm of Jacques Seligmann &
Company.
We began at once to buy and to exhibit the "new" art. Two exhibi-
tions held in 1927 included the whole roster of French paintings of
the late 19th and early 20th centuries from Manet to Matisse. In April,
1928, we held the first American exhibition of paintings by Pierre
Bonnard. In 1929, we were the first gallery in the United States to
hold a major showing of the works of Modigliani.
We were all, my cousin, Rene, and my associates, Cesar de Hauke,
Clyff ord Trevor, Hans Waegen, and Robert Leylan, comparatively
young men who shared an enthusiasm for pioneering, but it was not
yet upon modern art that the firm could depend for its profits. We
continued to be active in the fields which had made the firm's name,
except that paintings began to bulk larger and larger in the inven-
156
Evolutions of the Twenties
tory and gradually to account for a bigger percentage of the profits.
Before long we could boast a painting inventory which ran from
15th century primitives through Bellini, Titian, Fragonard, Raeburn,
David, Ingres, Delacroix, and Boudin, to Renoir, Cezanne, Van
Gogh, and Seurat.
157
CHAPTER XIV
The Unreal Years— the 1920's
and the Aftermath
v ][ ^he decade of the 1920's with its frenetic political, social
J[ and economic movements, affecting the art world no less
than any other, will always have an unreal quality for me. This un-
reality first began to manifest itself in the economic life of Europe,
where, in spite of the monstrous destruction of wealth and manpower
during World War I and the heavy taxation which followed it, in
spite of the slow but steady flow of gold to America and the loss of
the immense markets which had been represented by Russia, Ger-
many, and Austria, the West had somehow managed to talk itself into
a transitory, abnormal prosperity. It was a prosperity based on specu-
lation, with all its attendant evils of false value.
The first wave of speculation had come with the war itself, en-
gineered by men, largely from the so-called neutrals, who sold arms
and food to the belligerents indiscriminately. Then this first greedy
crew was displaced in the twenties by a second lot who, in their turn,
waxed fat on the manipulation of the fluctuating postwar currencies.
They brought problems to the art world for which it was wholly un-
prepared, chief among them being a completely new type of client.
For the first time we found coming to Sagan men whose names and
faces were unknown to us, a situation hitherto rare in our business,
where a man is usually well-known in some other activity before he
becomes a collector. Moreover, few of these newcomers were genuine
art lovers; they were buying works of art purely as a speculative
venture.
158
The Unreal Years — the 1920' 's and the Aftermath
There is nothing reprehensible about buying works of art to hold
for an anticipated rise in price, if this is based on an expected en-
hancement in the value of the object itself or on a belief in the general
betterment of business conditions. In Europe during the twenties,
however, such deals were only too often premised on out-and-out
currency speculation, involving deferred payments to be made after a
predicted, or maneuvered, currency devaluation. We learned about
this variety of swindle through the collapse of several German art
dealers whose vaunted big deals turned out to have been based on
installment payments to be made in marks. By the time payment was
received, the mark had lost its value, and the German dealer had lost
his works of art — and often his business.
The French had at first considered the rapid drop in the value of
the mark as only a natural outcome of the war. It was not until later,
too late for some, that it became plain that the devaluation was en-
couraged, even purposely and willfully managed, by the Germans in
power. By selling its marks abroad, Germany fraudulently acquired
foreign currencies, and simultaneously depreciated her internal debt,
war bonds, pensions, and the like, at the cost of ruin for her own peo-
ple as well as for foreign investors. Before the French really grasped
the full implications of the fall of the mark, it became apparent that
the franc, which had already lost much of its 1914 value through the
outflow of gold and an enormous foreign debt, was also dropping in
the international money market at a faster-than-reasonable rate. The
world speculators, whose appetites had been whetted on the mark,
were now gnawing at the franc.
The principal raider of the franc was rumored to be a huge syndi-
cate headed by Fritz Mannheimer, a German, whose meteoric career
was extraordinarily brilliant, if not exactly exemplary. After a splen-
did record as a law student, Mannheimer had entered the banking
business in Paris where he proved himself so able that, upon his return
to Germany in 1914, he was sent by the Reichsbank to Amsterdam in
neutral Holland. After the war, he became associated with the highly
respected firm of Mendelssohn & Company, where his acumen and
dynamism quickly gained him a partnership and the direction of that
firm's Amsterdam branch. Under his influence, the old firm lost its
conservative character and several partners resigned, leaving Mann-
heimer in full control. The Amsterdam office then became headquar-
ters for a quasi-official organization, whose activities were condoned,
159
MERCHANTS OF ART
if not encouraged, by the German minister of finance, in charge of
selling marks short. The success of this operation led to raids on the
franc and, no doubt, on other shaky currencies.
The staggering returns from these activities enabled Fritz Mann-
heimer to indulge lavishly in his avocation, the collecting of works
of art. His taste ran chiefly to objets d'art of the Renaissance and to
Dutch paintings, which he had ample opportunity and funds to ac-
quire in Holland, but he also owned some excellent Gothic tapestries,
superb Dresden porcelains, and a sprinkling of French 18th century
paintings and drawings. Whatever his moral sense, Mannheimer had
a real love and understanding of the objects he chose.
Mannheimer was not a client of my firm, but we did have an ex-
perience with a member of his syndicate which is amusing, if only in
retrospect. On my return from New York in the late summer of 1926,
I was met at the Paris station by my cousin, Rene, and my associate
Albert Meyer, both much concerned about the visit the day before
from a Herr Drucker of Vienna. Drucker had spent several hours
looking at a considerable list of works of art and then had made an
offer for the whole lot, an offer which Meyer would have accepted
under ordinary circumstances, as it was close to the total of the indi-
vidual prices quoted. Drucker, however, was completely unknown
to us and the offer, in francs, had been rather vague as to terms of
payment. In view, therefore, of my imminent arrival, the deal had
been left open and Drucker was told that as soon as Meyer had con-
ferred with me, he would hear from us.
Rumors had already reached me of the colossal pressure being
brought on the French franc, and I immediately told Meyer that I
did not care much for Drucker's offer. On the other hand, it involved
an important sum which we could not turn down without trying, at
least, to conclude the deal with the necessary protection against a
further decline of the franc. Above all, of course, we would not give a
bill of sale to Drucker until the terms of payment had been satisfac-
torily settled. Such precautions had heretofore been completely un-
known to us.
We drove straight from the station to the Ritz where the manager,
an old friend, told us that Drucker, of whom he knew little, had been
occupying one of the most luxurious suites and had paid his bills
promptly; but he had left, unexpectedly, a few hours before for
Vienna. He had left a note for Albert Meyer advising him that he
160
The Unreal Years — the 1920' s and the Aftermath
could be reached at the Hotel Imperial in Vienna, if necessary, but
would be back within four or five days at the Ritz in any event. Ordi-
narily, the matter would simply have been tabled to await Drucker's
return, but two of the most valuable items he had chosen were also
among those I intended showing to an important New York collector
due to arrive shortly. Obviously, I could not do so while the Drucker
deal hung fire, so this uncertainty, coupled with our natural interest
in a major sale, influenced us to go to Vienna. On arrival, we went im-
mediately to the Hotel Imperial and announced ourselves. Much to
our annoyance, word came down through a secretary that Drucker
was extremely sorry but, because of the press of business, he could
not receive us. He would be back in Paris within two or three days,
and meanwhile we were, of course, free to reject his offer. Which
seemed to be that, for the moment anyway.
As we stood in the lobby discussing this development, our atten-
tion was caught by a group of men who emerged from the elevator,
talking earnestly together. We recognized Fritz Mannheimer as the
center of the group, but attached no particular significance to the
incident since we had understood Drucker to be associated with him.
As for us there seemed to be nothing to do but return to Paris.
Back on the train, sitting somewhat glumly in the dining car after
crossing the French border, we noted a group of excited Frenchmen
talking and gesticulating at once. In the hubbub, I could not gather
what they were discussing, only that it must be momentous. There
was an unmistakable air of stirring public events about them, so we
stopped one of them and inquired what it was all about.
"Don't you know, haven't you seen the papers? Poincare has
caught the shorts. The franc went up fifteen points in a few hours last
night and is still advancing."
Albert Meyer and I looked at each other; we needed no further
explanation. Not only did we never hear from Drucker again, he
never returned to Paris and seemed, even in Vienna, to have disap-
peared as swiftly as he had come. He was a victim of Poincare's
stabilization of the franc in 1926, which settled at about twenty-five
to the dollar; it was fifty-three when Drucker just dropped in.
Later in the thirties when even solidly based firms could no longer
weather the storm, Fritz Mannheimer's firm, Mendelssohn & Com-
pany, geared to a bull market and unprepared for the inevitable re-
versal, went under with a mighty crash. I understand that its creditors
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MERCHANTS OF ART
were later substantially reimbursed, but Mannheimer himself com-
mitted suicide in 1939 just two days before the outbreak of World
War II.
The Drucker incident is worth telling largely for what it reveals of
conditions about which, up to that point, my firm had known little.
Other similar occurrences were to come, and for a while we looked
upon every newcomer with a certain suspicion. Ivar Kreuger, the
Swedish match king, also committed suicide, in Paris in 1932, after
having spent a sizable part of his fortune on works of art. I feel fortu-
nate in never having known or done business with him.
Alfred Lowenstein of Brussels, whose activities were similarly con-
nected with money manipulation, we did do business with, however.
His sumptuous house in Brussels contained beautiful things, among
them the famous set of Beauvais tapestry chairs and hangings after
designs of Casanova from the Wallace-Bagatelle Collection, the only
complete such set I have ever known. His paintings, drawings, and
water colors, including several by Fragonard, were of equally high
standard. In true European taste, there was a homogeneity in his
house and its scale, with the furniture, the high candelabra on pedes-
tals flanking the tapestries, the clocks and mounted vases on the
mantelpieces, all enhancing one another to the advantage of the
whole. Lowenstein, too, ended his own life, by the rather spectacular
expedient of leaping from his private plane into the English channel.
A third wave of new fortunes, which began in the twenties and
reached its peak in the thirties, was based not on speculation in
money, but, equally unpalatable to the French, upon speculation in
a future war and the rearmament program of Germany. To it be-
longed Ottmar Strauss and Otto Wolff who, like Hugo Stines and his
son, had established huge cartels of coal and steel and had built great
houses along the Rhine. Among these men, certainly the most striking
personality I encountered was the steel magnate, Fritz Thyssen.
I recall vividly his first visit to Sagan in 1928. His name meant little
to me then, but I remarked quickly that he understood a good deal
about art and particularly about French art of the 18th century. In
fact, I truly believe that he is the only German I ever knew who
gauged that period according to its true merit, seeing in it the gran-
deur, the elegance, and the balance which are its basic characteristics,
rather than mere prettiness and sensuality. Thyssen looked at a num-
ber of objects with interest and after some discussion, decided upon
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The Unreal Years — the 1920' 's and the Aftermath
the purchase of a painting by Fragonard and a delightful small canvas
by Boilly, representing a little girl carrying her baby brother on her
shoulders. The Fragonard, by the way, was the charming small ver-
sion of the Dites, done, s'il vous plait which Baron Edmond de
Rothschild rejected because of its varnish smell.
Our business concluded, and the day pleasant, I suggested that he
stop for a cup of tea on the terrace, for I was interested in what was
going on in Germany. I was also curious about this obviously cul-
tured and well-informed individual. Thyssen accepted and, sensing
my interest, developed in leisurely fashion his ideas about the neces-
sity of re-educating the German masses, especially the young. It
sounded rational and reasonable, without anything I could later con-
nect with the horrors of the Hitler regime. That Fritz Thyssen con-
tributed financially to the Hitler movement has been established
beyond doubt. How much of it was done willingly, and to what extent
he actually shared in the extreme views of Nazism, are questions I
cannot answer. I have always felt that it must have gone against his
inner feelings and against his background of education and refine-
ment.
Ten years later, in 1938, after Hitler had been unmistakably re-
vealed for what he was, I wrote to Thyssen about the Mortimer L.
Schiff collection, a part of which was coming up for sale in London.
In his reply, which remained in the files of the Paris firm until they
were destroyed, Thyssen deprecated the narrow-mindedness of Hit-
ler and the savagery of a regime which would not allow him to take
advantage of the exceptional opportunity offered by this sale. When
one considers the dangers such a letter involved in Germany, where
all mail was censored, it evidenced conviction and courage. Certainly
I have no desire to depict this man as better than he was, nor to re-
lieve him of responsibility for the earlier successes of Hitler which in
turn meant increased activity for Thyssen's vast industries, but I
doubt whether he foresaw or desired the war and the atrocities which
followed. That was my one and only meeting with Fritz Thyssen, al-
though he came to Sagan a number of times in my absence and in-
vited me to call on him in Germany, but during those brief years
when I still had any desire to set foot on German soil, something al-
ways prevented my seeing him.
Fortunately, the inter- war period also bred newcomers of construc-
tive ability, and a new generation of hardworking businessmen-
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MERCHANTS OF ART
collectors grew up in every country — France, England, Switzerland,
even in the short-lived independent states, such as Czechoslovakia,
created by the Versailles Treaty. In Prague, for instance, the various
members of the Petschek and Gellert families, with whom the firm
entertained cordial personal and business relationships, developed
into refined and discriminating collectors. I often wonder what has
become of the sumptuous homes they built and furnished in the
French 18th century manner and whether, behind the Iron Curtain,
they still live and continue to collect.
One of the most interesting of the new French collectors was
Francois Coty, who started with nothing and, during the early twen-
ties, built up a great cosmetic industry. When he came to Sagan the
first time, while my father was still alive, Coty had already acquired
the charming house which had been George Kessler's in the Bois de
Boulogne district and the lovely Pavilion of Madame du Barry at
Louveciennes and was busy perfecting their arrangement in 18th
century taste. To these he had now added the handsome Chateau du
Puy d'Artigny at Montbazon on the Loire and there, in a vast room
especially decorated for the purpose, he proposed to hang one of the
most remarkable sets of gold and silver woven tapestries I have ever
seen.
Unique is a word often too lightly used in the art world, but this
set, which my father had bought from the estate of the late Baron de
Hirsch, merits the adjective in its strictest sense. Contrary to the
usual practice which allowed tapestry cartoons, even when made by
great artists, to be repeated as long as they were in vogue and com-
missioned by any wealthy patron who fancied them, these were exe-
cuted but once. They were a royal command — a gift to the Comte
de Toulouse, natural son of Louis XIV, from his mother, the Mar-
quise de Montespan. Designed by Berain, they were woven at Beau-
vais about 1703 for a particular room of the Hotel de la Vrilliere.
Since the addition of gold and silver threads is essentially a tech-
nique of the Renaissance and was seldom used in the 17th and
18th centuries, this rich embellishment adds another touch of rarity
to the set. The Comte de Toulouse, being a Grand Admiral of the
Fleet, chose, appropriately, the Divinities of the Sea, Amphitrite,
Venus, Eurus, and Thetis as the central motifs of the four hangings.
The lower section of each represents the sea itself, and when hung
low on the wall, the beholder has an illusion of being at water-level,
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The Unreal Years — the 1920' s and the Aftermath
part of an exceptional seascape. This effect is heightened by wide
borders of fanciful architecture or curious rocks, so that one has the
further sense of being inside a grotto, looking out into the sparkling
daylight. In the lower corners are coats-of-arms bearing the blazon
of France and the bane sinistre of the bastard line, with anchors to
denote the office of the Comte.
Whether Francois Coty ever actually hung them on the walls at
Montbazon, I do not know. I hope he had that pleasure and satis-
faction before misfortune caught up with him a few years later, for
in matters purely aesthetic, he was a man of vision as well as great
ambition.
Upon Coty's death and the sale of his collection, in 1936, the tapes-
tries, curiously enough, returned once more to the great house for
which they had been woven, the Hotel de la Vrilliere, now the head-
quarters of the Banque de France.
In the United States during the same period, we had been going
through our own particular brand of speculation, based on the belief
that the stock market was a sure road to riches without work. As the
decade drew to its close and the unreality of the economic structure
began to make itself apparent, art prices fluctuated along with the
stock market. The stabilizing factors which steadied the one were
equally important for the other, and these factors had vanished.
When the money market came down in crashing disaster, the art
market also collapsed.
October 1929 is still too vivid in the minds of my generation to be
recalled without shivers. For younger men who have grown up in
the shadow of its economic effect but for whom the actuality is only
legend, it must be difficult to conceive that we could drop from one
day to the next, from a sky-is-the-limit economy into what appeared
to be a bottomless abyss. Neither great nor small was spared — the
bank president and the messenger boy who imitated him; the
master of a great household and the butler who acted upon the tips
garnered about his table; the difference was only in proportion. Re-
spected names became involved in official investigations and others
which had been synonymous with fortune and honor went down to
ignominy and disgrace. Collectors of works of art were no exception.
For the art dealer, the credit side of the ledger soon had little mean-
ing. If he borrowed against his accounts receivable or committed
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MERCHANTS OF ART
himself to purchase on the strength of them, he, too, was in immediate
jeopardy. Added to these troubles of a type shared with all business-
men, was one which is special to the art business. If circumstances
oblige a collector to sell, he is astonished and hurt that the dealer does
not jump at the chance to buy back ( at a profit to the collector, of
course ) the object previously sold him. In boom times this might, in
fact does, happen, but many a collector seems to feel that it should
be equally true when the bottom drops out. The same collector may
understand that no other capital asset can be sold under such terms,
that a stock bought on a rising market must be sold at a loss on a
falling one, even though it represents an enterprise which is as sound
as ever; but for some inexplicable reason, he feels unable to apply the
same logic to works of art.
In a way, of course, he is right. A fine work of art never "goes off
the board" as did stocks in the early thirties; it always has a value.
Nevertheless, the dealer who sold it was entitled to a profit on the risk
he had taken; the purchaser meanwhile had the enjoyment of the
object; and, more important, the same economic condition which
forces the collector to sell, also affects the dealer.
A man of considerable means who had managed to hang on to a
goodly share of his assets, but who like everyone was short on cash,
had made a purchase from me in more prosperous days for which
special terms of payment were arranged. The larger part had already
been paid when he came to me, asking that I cancel the deal and take
the painting back at what he had paid for it. With conditions as they
were, and my own need to husband my cash, I could only refuse. He
became so annoyed and so insistent that I finally offered, to show my
good will, to buy the painting back at a slight loss to him. This he
in turn refused and, moreover, he never forgave me. I learned later
that he had wanted the money to invest in certain stocks then very
low which he felt were bound to come back. In his mind there was no
link between the one transaction and the other.
Nor was he the only one. Some were harder to refuse because I
realized that they were really desperate. I remember well the despair
on the face of a young and attractive Philadelphia woman, as she
pleaded with me to take back several paintings which her husband
had purchased a few weeks before the crash, and for which he had
not yet paid. She told me that the mink coat she wore was one of their
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The Unreal Years — the 1920' s and the Aftermath
last assets; that they were closing their house, the servants had al-
ready been dismissed, and if I were to press my claim, it would ruin
them. She added, of course, that they would be eternally grateful to
me and as soon as conditions had straightened out, I would be the
first dealer to whom they would return. We were able to work out
some sort of arrangement, and they did resume their collecting some
years later, but I have never seen either of them again.
One collector who owed my firm a considerable amount, com-
mitted suicide and a compromise had to be reached with his estate.
Another entered into voluntary bankruptcy, and his account was set-
tled in payments extending over a period of ten years. There were
others whose actions were less honorable. My largest debtor claimed
that his purchases had been made upon my recommendation and he
held me responsible for the fact that he could neither pay for them
nor sell them. What an easy way out for a man of mature years, a
great manufacturer who owned a fine New York house and still had
sufficient money to maintain it and to lavish jewels on his wife. In
this case, there was no reason to give in and I did not, although I did
have to agree to an extension of the payment period.
Thanks to my father's precept, I had neither borrowed nor pledged
my credit to buy works of art during the seemingly endlessly rising
market. I had limited my purchases that summer of 1929 rather
strictly and so was able to weather the storm. Even more fortunately,
there were still a few clients left like the great lady of Chicago who,
to my astonishment, came in one day expressly to buy a painting
which she knew I owned. "My stocks are bringing me nothing, my
rental properties are eating themselves up," she explained. "My works
of art are the only assets I own which I know will still have a value
and the only investment worth making just now."
This is an attitude that is much less usual in America than in Eu-
rope where works of art have always been held in higher esteem from
the standpoint of capital assets, and not just among collectors. During
the depression, a group of Berlin bankers had been approached by a
Viennese collector for a loan of considerable size, and he offered his
works of art as collateral. Should an expert appraisal show their value
to be near the amount requested, the loan would be made; should he
fail to repay the debt within the period of the loan — which seemed
altogether likely — his collection would be sold by the bank. I was
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MERCHANTS OF ART
called, not only to act as expert for the bankers, but, in the event of
the collector's failure to repay the loan, as the prospective selling
agent.
I had called upon this Viennese gentleman in happier times. His
collection, which he had amassed in a relatively short time, had not
impressed me to the extent of the millions of Renten marks (then the
new German currency) he was seeking to borrow. Nevertheless,
should the figures not be too far apart, the proposition was a tempting
one, for my firm would have no investment to make and the publicity
would be considerable. Furthermore, business was dull in Europe
and worse in the United States. Yet could I conscientiously encourage
a risky deal? On the other hand, if I turned it down, might not a less
scrupulous competitor be glad to take it on, even though I had been
assured in Berlin that the syndicate would either work with me or
drop it?
It was a diversified collection, including well-known paintings by
Rembrandt, several Tiepolos, Italian sculptures and bronzes, ma-
jolicas, tapestries, and some furniture. It was a case made to order for
the training game that my father used to make me play: in a rapid
survey of the whole to try to determine within minutes which works
of art, qualitatively speaking, are the most important, those which
bring an immediate reaction and stand out among the many. If the
total value of these objects does not approximate the expected total
figure, there is no need to go any further. Exceptional works of art
are never difficult to sell, it is the average items in a collection which
take time and effort and in the end seldom bring enough to balance
the account. I had allowed myself two or three days to study the
situation, but at the end of five or six hours, I knew the answer. I wired
Berlin that I considered the business unacceptable to the syndicate
and to my firm.
The bankers involved in the proposed loan were all successful,
hard-headed businessmen, yet they did not hesitate to entertain the
idea of accepting works of art as collateral for a business loan. Such a
proposition would still be difficult, if not impossible, to put across
in the United States. If in this case they turned down the loan, it was
not because of the nature of the collateral, but because of its lack of
quality.
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CHAPTER XV
Moscow, 1928
v || ^he wild speculation of the twenties and the financial
Jl crises which beset individuals and governments alike in
the depression had perhaps its most bizarre manifestation in the sale
by a major country of its art masterpieces in order to obtain hard
money. The country was the Soviet Union. In 1930, press reports,
followed by official denials, told of the purchase by Andrew Mellon
for two million dollars of great works from the Hermitage Museum
in Leningrad. No matter what the circumstances, it was hard to be-
lieve that a government would part with treasures from its own
national museum. When at last, in 1933, the sale was confirmed, I
could only look back on my own role in the events that preceded that
sale as the most exciting and most frustrating adventure of that whole
strange period.
One day in Paris in the fall of 1927 I received a group of Russians
representing what they termed a "commercial venture" controlled,
naturally, by the Soviet Government. After considerable hedging,
they finally came to the point: they were inviting me to go to Moscow
where they hoped we might be able to work out a satisfactory deal.
My firm had been approached first, they said, because of its pre-
revolutionary reputation in Russia. Although I pressed for more spe-
cific information and further details, they remained vague. Plans
were still incomplete, but they were sure that if I were interested in
the works of art I would see in Moscow, a deal could certainly be
arranged. I requested a few days to think over so unexpected a pro-
posal, and they went away assuring me that should I accept, as they
hoped, the matter of visas could be settled in no time, a matter of a
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MERCHANTS OF ART
fortnight at most. This was at a time when a visa to Russia, if issued
at all, was delayed for months, as I assume it still can be.
Of course I was tremendously excited and curious, with visions
before my eyes of the great works of art which I had seen in Russia
years before. But as tempting as this new adventure sounded, I was
very hesitant. Russia at that period was almost an unknown quantity,
and the little I did know about it, I did not like. I knew from experi-
ence that the journey would be cold and uncomfortable. I was no
longer eighteen and youthfully venturesome, and my schedule of
travel between New York and Paris was already a heavy tax on my
time and strength. However, I was duly conscious that no decision
of mine would matter if the project were disapproved by the French
government, so I decided to leave the whole matter in the hands of
the Office of Foreign Affairs. A few hours after my talk with the Rus-
sians I was in conference with Philippe Berthelot, permanent secre-
tary at the Quai d'Orsay with the rank of Ambassador, an old friend
of my father, as well as a collector and art lover. He became quite
excited and declared, "But, of course, you're going; you can't refuse.
You know very well that the greatest collections of French 18th cen-
tury art outside France are in Russia; it's a matter of tremendous in-
terest to France. I shall give immediate instructions for your passports
[my associate, Albert Meyer, was to accompany me if I went] and
provide you with special letters to our Charge d' Affaires there and
the ambassadors along the way." Thus my mind was made up for me.
The political geography of the long ride to the Russian border was
very different from that of 1911; new states had been created or re-
activated— Estonia, Latvia, and Lithuania, and the Polish Corridor,
which had to be crossed in sealed cars. When the train reached the
Russian frontier, orders had evidently preceded us, for we were
greeted like ambassadors. A pleasant young officer, with two men to
carry our baggage, presented himself. We were passed through cus-
toms without formalities, our passports only glanced at. In no time at
all, we were back in our train compartment, on our way as fast as a
Russian train allowed. Whatever political changes we might find in
Moscow, the Russian landscape was still as vast as I remembered it,
the cold was as paralyzing, and so was the tedium of the journey.
When at long last we arrived in Moscow, we were conducted at
once to rooms at the Hotel Savoy and there duly provided with an
interpreter who would attend us throughout our stay. It was he who
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Moscow, 1928
suggested that we would wish, of course, to visit the tomb of Lenin
before going to our first appointment next morning. Far from "of
course," nothing could actually have been further from our thoughts,
but the waiting expectancy and the matter-of-fact manner of our
guide left us in no doubt; this was accepted procedure, and we dared
not refuse. Thus, we had the honor of descending into the mausoleum
with the relieving guard for a private view, while a long line of
shivering people waited patiently outside for admittance. It was in-
deed an impressive place in its solemn simplicity, for the original,
rather bare, wooden structure had not yet been replaced by the
grandiose shrine of today, and there was none of the pomp which has
since, I understand, been added. Even the uniforms of the officer
guards were as plain as those of privates. We were a little worried
about what was expected of us, but our decision simply to doff our
hats and stand at reverent attention was apparently the right one.
This ritual over, without faux pas on our part, we were conducted
to an office for our appointment. After a few minutes of preliminary
talk with a functionary, we were shown into a vast hall filled with
rows of immense wooden trestle tables on which was spread the
nationalized property of the revolution. It comprised, essentially,
trinkets of a personal character — writing sets, toilet sets, and boxes
of all sorts for snuff, cosmetics and a hundred uses, some of silver or
silver-gilt, others set with stones or decorated with enamel. Here and
there were a few works of art of mediocre quality. Initials, coats-of-
arms, and crests on the majority of the objects would have made it
easy to identify the previous owners, but this was no concern of ours.
I tried to make it clear to our cicerone that such personal items were
of no interest to us, but I quickly realized that there was a gulf be-
tween us; to these people, fine metal and precious or semiprecious
stones seemed of great value. And, indeed, they did, in the aggregate,
represent a considerable amount of money; but they were not the
class of object which we had come all the way to Russia to see. In
spite of all my explanations, it took another two or three days of going
over more of the same, literally thousands of items, before I finally
told our guides, in terms which left no room for doubt, that unless
they were willing to show us true works of art, we should return to
Paris. As pleasant as their hospitality was, we were definitely wasting
our time and theirs.
Finally, we were granted an interview with the Commissar in
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MERCHANTS OF ART
charge, a cultivated and pleasant gentleman whose name I no longer
recall, who asked me first in which language, French or English, both
of which he spoke fluently, I preferred to converse. To my surprise,
he proved to be remarkably well-posted on art questions, and when
I expressed disappointment in the quality of the items we had seen,
he countered by showing me reports of auction sales in New York
and California where similar objects had obtained what he consid-
ered good prices. Though I am certain that he understood my point
at once, he tried to argue his. The government was anxious, and
rightly so, to dispose first of the lesser items, and only later, perhaps,
of the important ones. Again and again I had to explain that my firm
did not handle this type of material, and that he should deal directly
with auction rooms.
Realizing at last that we were adamant, orders were given to have
us shown the "Reserves," where I recognized immediately treasures
I had seen in private collections on my previous Russian visit. Here
were the type of things we had come to see — the paintings, the sculp-
ture, the fine furniture, the precious objets d'art. At the same time it
was made clear to us that showing them was not to be interpreted as
expressing the Soviet government's willingness to part with them.
One room was an extraordinary sight — a vast hall which gave the
impression of being a great cave of ormolu and gilt-bronze, with
stalactites and stalagmites of gold and crystal. Hanging from the
ceiling, standing on the floor or on tables, was an incredible array of
chandeliers and candelabra, small, large, or huge, all glittering, for
they seemed to have been well cared for, with gilded ornament and
glass or crystal pendants. Nor were the tables they stood on less
resplendent, with ormolu ornaments and tops of marble, onyx, agate,
or that vivid green malachite of which Russians are so fond.
We spent a few more days visiting these Reserves, and then had a
final talk with the Commissar in which I, once again, made my point
perfectly clear. If the fine objects in the great Reserves were not to be
sold, there was no proposition I could make. I expressed our thanks
for the many courtesies extended us: we had been taken through the
sumptuous and formidable Kremlin, shown some of the building de-
velopments, and, most exciting, had been allowed to see a part of the
fabulous Morosoff and Chtchoukine Collections of Impressionist and
Post-Impressionist paintings. And we departed, feeling that the long
journey had netted us little but an unusual experience.
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Moscow, 1928
In Paris, I reported to Philippe Berthelot the details of the trip and
my disappointment at its outcome. Berthelot, however, was far from
being as pessimistic as I. My visit, in his opinion, must have been
just as disappointing to the Soviet government, since it had dashed
their first hopes; but he believed they would come to my point of
view later.
When I returned to Paris from New York the next spring, I again
received a visit from the Soviet emissaries, with a proposition so
staggering I could hardly take it in. They wanted me to take charge
of the sale not only of all the works of art I had seen, but of all those
we had not been shown. It would be up to me to plan all the arrange-
ments. They were sure my terms would be agreeable to them, and
as soon as I accepted, we would immediately sit down and work out
the details.
When I had caught my breath, I expressed my pleasure at the
confidence in me shown by the Soviet government, but tried to make
two points clear at once: first, I had to receive the approval, official
or unofficial, of the French government; and, second, in view of the
tremendous number of items to be sold, it would be necessary to
enlist the services of the Parisian auctioneers for a number of public
sales. Since I was not an auctioneer, I could see no advantage to be
gained by my intervention. They replied that they understood all
this; I was to have a free hand to make whatever arrangements I
deemed necessary, determine what to sell through my own firm and
what to put up at public auction. It would even be up to me, they
said, to decide the composition of the different trainloads and the
order in which they would come. I was speechless. Again I had to ask
for a couple of days to think things over, and, of course, to consult the
Office of Foreign Affairs.
I rushed to Philippe Berthelot who was exasperated that I had not
accepted forthwith. "Don't you see what it will mean for France,"
he began, "to be able to show these art treasures, many of which went
directly to Russia from the artists' hands in the 18th century. The
stupendous exhibitions you can organize, the visitors they will bring."
His excitement was as great as mine. A couple of times I tried to inter-
rupt, to point out the difficulty of protecting such nationalized works
of art, as many of the original owners were still alive. He brushed
this objection aside with, "We will do all that's necessary." He tele-
phoned the Jurisconsulte of Foreign Affairs, introducing me by tele-
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MERCHANTS OF ART
phone, announcing my immediate visit, and emphasizing that every-
thing possible should be done to make the plan a reality.
While France had recognized the Soviet government de jure, and
exchanged ambassadors, in the fall of 1924, the long involved nego-
tiations, concerning debts, trade, the rights of nationals, were still
dragging on. Diplomatic relations had been particularly strained that
winter and at one stage came near the breaking point.
It was decided in our case that affording official protection to the
Soviet government offered too many diplomatic and legal difficulties.
In 1928 there were a great many emigre Russians in France and just
imagining the legal confusion as they all tried to make claim to their
nationalized possessions must have given the Jurisconsulte a crise de
nerfs. As recently as 1954, when works of Picasso were lent by the
Soviet government to a Paris exhibition, Madame Chtchoukine
charged that thirty-seven of the paintings had been confiscated from
her father in 1918 and asked the French court to impound them
pending legal action for recovery. The French court refused to take
such action, but the nervous Soviet authorities nevertheless withdrew
the paintings from the exhibition and hurried them to the Soviet
embassy.
The Jurisconsulte s decision was a great disappointment both to
Philippe Berthelot and to me, but my personal chagrin was somewhat
tempered by the realization that I had been spared what would have
been a nerve-wracking amount of work, lasting over a period of many
months or even years. Later, as auction sales of Russian collections
were announced in Germany and Austria and I began to hear rumors
of fabulous private sales to some of the leading international art firms,
I realized that I should have kept in touch with the Soviet authorities
rather than let the entire matter drop.
From 1930 through 1932 a series of auctions took place in Berlin,
in Leipzig, and at the Dorotheum in Vienna, sometimes under the
name of a single former Russian collector-owner, sometimes with ob-
jects from several collections together. The first of these, in the spring
of 1930, immediately set loose the rumor that not only were national-
ized works of art being auctioned, but paintings from the Hermitage
Museum in Leningrad were leaving Russia by private sale. Then the
rumors became more specific, culminating in the one involving
Andrew Mellon. A news item in The New York Times of September
25, 1930, carried an emphatic denial, first by the Soviet embassy,
174
Moscow, 1928
second by the unnamed dealer, and, third by Mr. Mellon. As no hint
had been given me in my various interviews with Soviet officials of
the possibility of selling Hermitage paintings, I was inclined to be-
lieve the denials.
The most spectacular of the auctions was that of the Stroganoff
Collection in Berlin on May 12 and 13, 1931. The collection had been
formed largely in the 18th century by Alexander Sergejevitsch Stroga-
noff and contained paintings and objets d'art of first quality. In spite
of the withdrawal of several paintings, notably two fine Bouchers,
because they did not reach the reserve prices, the sale brought more
than half a million dollars — a large sum in the early days of the
depression. Surviving members of the Stroganoff family attempted
to stop the sale, but were unable to do so.
New York shared in the excitement when a syndicate of German
dealers, operating under the name of the Import Antique Company,
brought over a group of about five hundred minor objets d'art, which
they had bought in Germany, for sale at public auction. The wide
advertising of "property of the late Czar" provoked a court injunction
to stop the sale on behalf of two of the Grand Duchesses, sisters of
the Czar. This only effected a delay, however, since they failed to
post the necessary $25,000 bond asked by the court pending legal
action. The objects were of little importance and when the auction
took place, a week or so later, the sales amounted to only some
$69,000, according to the newspaper accounts.
In 1932, as the depression deepened and art prices dropped, the
Soviet public sales began to taper off and I doubt that all of those
contemplated took place, in view of the bad returns from the last
few. Despite repeated denials, rumors continued, however, about
important private sales of extremely valuable objects from the Her-
mitage. By 1931 it was common knowledge in the art trade, though
officially unconfirmed, that paintings had been sold, most of them
in the United States.
It must be pointed out that in selling paintings from the Hermitage,
the Soviet government would not be disposing of confiscated or na-
tionalized property of private citizens. While most of the objects had
originally been Imperial property, the Hermitage had long been
Russia's national museum. As such, the new regime had every legal,
if perhaps not moral, right to dispose of them. Nevertheless, it was a
shock to the art world when the news was finally confirmed, in the
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MERCHANTS OF ART
fall of 1933, that the Soviet government had sold some of its finest
masterpieces. The sums, while large, could have been only a thumb
in the dike of their financial crisis. Russia's loss was, of course, our
gain. Twenty-one of the paintings were bought, through Knoedler &
Company, by Andrew Mellon and are now a part of our own national
treasure in the National Gallery in Washington, while the two famous
Van Eyck panels went to the Metropolitan Museum.
While it is flattering to be considered of sufficient reputation as an
art expert to be called upon by foreign governments, it can also have
its uncomfortable aspects. In the early years of Mussolini's accession
to power, when the world was still gauging his success in terms of the
efficiency of his railroads, a lamentable ignorance of Italian politics
led me unwittingly into a role I should have preferred not to play in
one of II Duce's minor dramas. I was approached one day by an
Italian friend with a discreet inquiry as to whether I expected to be in
Rome in the near future. The oblique approach is characteristic of
the prospective seller of works of art, but I soon learned that where
political ramifications are involved, it becomes even more acute. Since
I made such trips practically on schedule, I could readily answer in
the affirmative. My friend then indicated that his question was in-
spired by certain actions the new administration was contemplating
in connection with a well-known collection. He did not wish to
elaborate, but, if I were willing, I would be called on to act as art
expert for the Italian government for an appropriate fee.
Naturally, I was interested, but respecting certain basic ethics, I
insisted on knowing whose collection I was to judge and for what
purpose. I did not wish to act against my conscience, either as expert
or as a possible friend of the collector or those who might have ad-
vised him. It was here that my ignorance of Mussolini's methods led
me astray. Although I was firmly assured that my opinion was sought
only because the collection was coming to the Italian nation as a gift,
I learned, too late, that the "gift" was actually a confiscation, col-
lateral against a political fine imposed on the collector. Had I been
told the truth, I should certainly have foregone this dubious honor.
I had no wish to give even an indirect hand to the drastic policies of
the Fascist government and certainly none to injure a collector who,
while unknown to me personally, enjoyed a high reputation in the
art world.
176
CHAPTER XVI
The Thirties, New York
r
t is interesting to consider, in retrospect, the evolutions
that were taking place in the collector's taste while the
art dealing world was struggling to keep itself alive in these worst
years of the depression. The New York art market had never been
more active than it was in the mid-twenties, when new fortunes were
made. But the new money was too ephemeral to develop many true
collectors. The lavish spending having brought a relaxation in stand-
ards of quality, the bad sold along with the good and the prices paid
for mediocre works of art were as high as those paid a few years
earlier for the best. No form of plastic art was unsalable in those free-
spending days, but paintings nevertheless accounted for the bulk of
the financial return, as higher prices were asked and received for
everything from Italian primitives to English 18th century portraits,
with the latter particularly expensive. When the 1929 crash came,
even the most sought-after paintings, along with the sculptures, the
coveted Sevres porcelains, and the fine furniture, went begging in
dealers' storerooms.
Then, as the economic picture brightened and life began to resume
a more normal course, with former collectors or new ones in a posi-
tion to pursue their hobbies, it was apparent that the interest had
changed once more. The big demand was still for paintings, but not
those of the same periods. Certain schools, the cherished English
portrait, for example, once a fundamental of American tradition, suf-
fered an almost total eclipse. Certain others began a slow recovery,
but the collector demanded greater quality for his now hard-earned
money, and the paintings of lesser merit fell into their proper per-
spective. As for the traditional decorative arts, they were almost as
177
MERCHANTS OF ART
hard hit as English paintings. Tapestries which had sold for upwards
of a hundred thousand dollars could not find American buyers at any
price, as, in addition to the change of taste, both the old families and
the newly rich had become apartment dwellers, relinquishing the
spacious private dwellings to charitable and educational institutions,
or to the wreckers.
But even paintings made only a dilatory recovery, with one remark-
able exception. The new interest was in the works of the Impression-
ists and Post-Impressionists. Their prices had begun to rise in the
years following World War I and though, of course, they had fallen
in proportion to the rest, they now bounced back with alacrity and
new vigor, to resume a steady upward climb toward today's vertigi-
nous and almost frightening heights. Not only had the trend toward
the "moderns" accelerated, but the demand for the almost-old-master
Monets, Renoirs, Cezannes, and Van Goghs, was sweeping along in
its train the whole roster of French contemporary artists. The public
as a whole had, and to some extent still has, a tendency to catalogue
every tiring since Impressionism under the general heading of Modern
Art, and this is indeed an oversimplification of that complex series of
new ideas which made early 20th century painting so exciting.
The firm of Seligmann, and its associate, De Hauke & Company,
had already taken a stand for the late 19th and early 20th century
works during the late twenties. Our first big exhibition of 1930 was
planned for the autumn with a return engagement of the beautiful
and colorful canvases of Pierre Bonnard. An extra dividend of its
success was to be my acquaintance with that gentle and dedicated
artist.
The firm owned a number of Bonnard's paintings, purchased in the
open market, but in order to reveal his true talent to a public which
knew little of him, it was necessary to obtain more. I particularly
wanted to exhibit those canvases which Bonnard himself considered
his best. Further, I was anxious to have the artist's official endorse-
ment of the exhibition. So while it was still in the planning stage, I
called upon him in his Paris studio. When I explained the purpose of
my visit, Bonnard answered at once that I was, of course, free to act
as I wished, but if I wanted his endorsement, he would insist upon
my including the work of his two old friends, Vuillard and Roussel. I
was decidedly taken aback, for while I am a great admirer of Vuil-
lard's paintings, particularly of the period before 1905, I lacked en-
178
The Thirties, New York
thusiasm for Roussel. Moreover, this had been intended as a one-
man show and two more artists meant considerable added expense,
not to mention work. Bonnard, however, was quietly and politely
adamant in his loyalty. I finally had to agree to his condition and the
exhibition was duly held as Bonnard, Vuillard, and Roussel.
When I asked Bonnard's advice about which paintings I should
borrow from collectors and what prices should be asked for the few
which would be available for sale, he answered that he really did not
know. In the first place he did not know where his paintings were,
and about prices he had no idea at all. Courteous and gentle as he
was, it was evident that what he most wanted was for me to be on
my way and let him get back to his painting. Painting was his passion
and his sole interest. Recognition seemed to leave him thoroughly in-
different, and if he was flattered to learn that one of his works was in
a famous collection in New York and another in Washington, he gave
no inkling of it. He was one of the few truly dedicated artists of our
time.
A few years later I made one of the firm's most important acquisi-
tions in the field of modern art — two groups of paintings from the
estate of the late Jacques Doucet, whose devotion to the contempo-
rary artists had so startled Paris a few years earlier. My purchase con-
sisted of two groups, one including the Amateur d'Estampes by
Daumier and the famous Irises of Van Gogh, the other a fantastic
array of Picassos. Among the Picassos were his epochal Demoiselles
d' Avignon, a Tete d' Harlequin from his sensitive and delicate Blue
Period, and a whole series of abstract compositions. For some years
before Doucet's death in 1929 there had been a certain coolness be-
tween him and Picasso, for reasons I do not know. As a result, the
artist had not seen any of the Doucet paintings in a good many years.
Thinking that he might like to look at them again, particularly his
great masterpiece of 1907, the Demoiselles, I sent him a note saying
that the paintings would be at my Paris galleries on a certain date, if
he cared to call. Picasso was there almost before they were unloaded
from the truck.
He examined the Demoiselles with eagerness, remarked on its per-
fect condition and how well it had stood the test of time, both tech-
nically and as a key to the revolutionary movement it instituted. Then
he went on to the rest of the group, all of which, with the exception
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MERCHANTS OF ART
of the Blue Period head, belonged to the years between 1910 and
1914 when Cubism reached its most austere, classical, almost mono-
chromatic style. Picasso had some interesting comment about each —
when, and under what circumstances he had painted it, what his in-
tention was — remembering them all perfectly with one exception, a
small oval canvas in the typical white-through-browns-to-black
range. He returned to that one several times in puzzlement.
By now the paintings were strewn about the room, leaning against
walls or furniture, and Picasso sat down to contemplate quietly this
exceptional assemblage of his early work. Suddenly, still bothered
by the painting he could not place, he asked if he might turn it
around. Without waiting for my reply, he jumped up and looked at
the back of the canvas, exclaiming with satisfaction, "Aha, just as I
thought; it's Braque!" There was no doubt about it, there on the back
was the distinctive signature.
I offer this story respectfully to those whom I have heard claim an
infallible ability to differentiate at once between the work of these
two great artists in that particular period when they worked so closely
together, a feat which I have often found difficult.
I have never had as much personal satisfaction from any other
exhibitions as from the two Picasso showings which grew largely out
of this Doucet purchase, the "Blue and Rose Period" in 1936 and the
"Twenty Years in the Evolution of Picasso" in 1937, because they
filled my galleries with the youth of the entire vicinity. Every day
after school and all day Saturday, they came in swarms; some settled
on the floor; others ran back and forth from one painting to another,
and then back again to the first. They had to be put out with the
lights at closing time. Picasso's work was certainly not unknown in
New York at that time, but neither had he been recognized with the
acclaim later accorded him. For many it was a rare opportunity to
see paintings of which they had heard much but seen little.
The star of the 1937 exhibition was, of course, Les Demoiselles
d' Avignon and it was with much satisfaction that we saw it go, at the
close of the exhibition, to its new permanent home, the Museum of
Modern Art. That pioneering institution, thanks to the persistence of
a few courageous collectors, had opened its doors in November of
1929, despite the stock-market collapse. By 1932 it was forced to
move to larger quarters to accommodate its growing collection and
its mounting attendance. More remarkable, in exactly ten depression-
180
The Thirties, New York
ridden years, it prospered sufficiently to move into its own handsome
new building. There is no doubt that the series of exhibitions which
the museum held, the remarkable catalogues it issued, and the educa-
tional program it launched had much to do with the growth of public
appreciation of the modern schools. I like to think that the art dealer,
too, had a hand in it.
The art dealer, no less than the teaching institution and the mu-
seum, undertakes a program of public education when he plans an
exhibition of a new artist, a new movement, or even a neglected artist
or period of the past.
Among our contemporary exhibitions in the twenties was what
might be described as a festival of French decorative arts. Much of
the summer of 1925 was devoted to the selection in Paris, and it was
late in the year before the shipments had arrived, cleared, and the
exhibition set up in one of the large rooms in our building across from
the St. Regis Hotel. The show was probably the most comprehensive
to have been organized, including as it did the work of the talented
Pierre Legrain, the master leather-worker and designer; Ruhlman
and Leleu, the furniture makers; Puiforcat, Serriere, and Dunand, the
silver and enamel craftsmen; and the rich and colorful glass of
Marinot, as well as individually made creations of Lalique who had
not yet turned to the more lucrative commercialization of his abilities.
The exhibition was designed more as a museum display than a sales
project, the beautiful objects being placed in glass cases to protect
them from handling. The public was intrigued, anxious to see what
new trend was arousing such interest, and it definitely was a succes
d'estime, at least.
As is often true when a new phase of art is introduced, the financial
return is likely to be more in the realm of future hopes than present
reality. I would venture to say that it is rare for such exhibitions to
pay actual expenses, much less the investment, within the period of
the show. Beside the tangible costs of shipment, insurance, framing,
advertising, and the publishing of a catalogue there are the intangi-
bles. How can one put into figures the hours of research and corre-
spondence involved, much less offset them against sales? The results,
too, may be spread over a long period. The man who comes in today
to buy a painting may do so as the result of an interest kindled at an
exhibition five years earlier. To be willing to invest in the future this
way, the dealer must have a complete conviction about what he is
181
MERCHANTS OF ART
promoting. By the same token he offers the most convincing evidence
of his faith in what he has to sell.
Some firms, of course, operate largely on a consignment basis; they
do not own the works of art they show, but sell them on commission,
thus limiting the risk. This has always been contrary to the Seligmann
policy, instituted by my father and one which I have followed. Of
course, like all good rules, one may make exceptions for reason. In
general, however, the firm has bought outright the works of art which
it has handled. In the twenties and thirties, few French artists had
American representation, that is, a gallery which acted as exhibiting
and selling agent. The paintings, drawings, or sculptures we showed
were acquired on the open market either here or abroad. It was only
when we went into the contemporary American field in the mid-
thirties that we undertook to operate as artists' agent, something en-
tirely new for us.
It had always been my belief that American art firms should en-
courage and promote American contemporary artists, and I had made
several efforts along this line at Sagan in the twenties. The most am-
bitious was an unjuried Salon, sponsored by the American Ambassa-
dor, Myron T. Herrick, and open to all American artists working in
Paris.
About 1935, due to the presence in my firm of a remarkable young
woman, Theresa Parker, whose belief in and sympathy for the Ameri-
can artist has never wavered or diminished in the thirty-six years I
have known her, the New York gallery began to represent a limited
number of American artists.
There are certain fundamental differences between handling the
art of the past and dealing with the production of living artists, the
most basic, of course, being the fact that one now has the added
responsibility of treating with a sentient, creative human being. The
staff which works with the artist has a full-time job and the larger
the roster represented, the larger the staff required. Exhibitions by
living painters and sculptors involve not only all the detail of any
other show, but more promotion and a whole new set of psychological
concepts, requiring patience.
We then established certain rules. First, and most important, the
Seligmann galleries could never, under any circumstances or at any
price, be rented by an artist for the display of his work. This left us
independent to choose only what we believed to have merit, a free-
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The Thirties, New York
dom which is lost if one rents. The second had to do with the expenses
which are chargeable to the artist. These were to be only the extras
which pertained immediately to the promotion of his work — adver-
tising and invitations to special openings, for example — and should
in no way reflect the general running expenses of the firm, which
would come out of the firm's earned commissions just as those for
other works of art come out of the profits.
If a firm is to handle traditional works of art and at the same time
promote contemporary artists, doing justice to both, it must have the
space to store two types of inventory and sufficient personnel to run
two schedules of exhibitions. During the thirties, when the firm still
occupied the large house at 3 East 51st Street, we had both the space
and the personnel to present well-known American painters like Sid-
ney Laufman, Louis Guglielmi, Hobson Pittman, and Julian Levi in
their first New York one-man shows, exhibit the works of Picasso,
Leger, or Juan Gris, and, in another part of the house, carry on the
more traditional activities of the firm.
183
CHAPTER XVII
The Thirties, Paris
T
^he crash of 1929 and the subsequent depression did not
affect business in Paris to the same extent as in New
York, nor did collecting undergo as drastic a change of interest. Cer-
tainly Europe suffered financially in the thirties, but there continued
to be a more or less active art market even in the depths of the de-
pression. As in the United States, paintings had become our most
important items, with the modern schools gaining ground all the
time. But France has never lost her taste for her own 18th century
decorative arts, and French collectors have always tended to be more
eclectic in their interests. The exhibitions we held in Paris, then, were
of a more varied, if more traditional, kind than those in New York.
The more important ones, as in New York, usually benefited some
worthy cause, with most of the works of art lent by public institutions
and private collectors. Parisians love exhibitions; people strolled
through the big rooms at Sagan as they would at a social function or a
private museum, just to enjoy the works of art, rather than as clients.
New Yorkers also feel free to attend showings in the same way, but it
is unfortunate how often out-of-town people confess a certain ti-
midity about attending an exhibition in a dealer's gallery, believing
that only buyers are welcome. Nothing could be more mistaken, of
course.
I was always particularly interested by the number of men in offi-
cial position who attended the Paris exhibitions. They were keenly
interested in art, if not from an aesthetic view, then from a historical
and literary viewpoint. In 1930 we held an exhibition of the works of
L. L. Boilly, who is not one of France's leading artists, but one of
the best of the petits maitres, a remarkable draftsman, and a refined
184
The Thirties, Paris
painter. He recorded one of the most colorful periods of French his-
tory, the Revolution and the quarter century or so which followed it,
in anecdotes of wit and vivacity which are precious social documents
and a veritable history of the city of Paris. Thus it was fitting that
the exhibition should benefit the Amis du Musee Carnavalet, the
museum dedicated to the past of Paris, and that its committee of
organization should be headed by Francois Boucher, the museum's
curator. The President of the Amis du Musee Carnavalet was Mare-
chal Lyautey, the great hero of Morocco, who in the last years of his
life was still surrounded with the glamor of his exploits. Lyautey 's
arrival at the opening was one of the exhibition's high moments. Tall,
slender, and with a splendid bearing, he wore his dress uniform with
full decorations. Over it was the white wool burnous of the African
spahis. Accompanying him was a full retinue of aides-de-camp, staff
officers, and their elegantly attired wives.
Naturally, his identification with the exhibition drew a large army
audience. Even without this incentive the number of military and
political figures, including generals and ex-premiers, who dropped in
to the Palais de Sagan had always impressed me. Our location was a
convenient one, just halfway between the Invalides, general head-
quarters of the army, and the Ministry of Foreign Affairs and the
Chamber of Deputies. General Gouraud, who had lost an arm in the
battle of the Dardanelles and was now military governor of Paris,
General Weygand of the French cavalry, Chief of Staff under Mar-
shall Foch, Louis Barthou, who shared the fate of Alexander of Yugo-
slavia in Marseilles in 1934, Philippe Berthelot, permanent secretary
of Foreign Affairs, and Edouard Herriot, the great Socialist leader,
were frequent visitors. It was a particular pleasure to accompany
Herriot, himself a collector, writer and historian, through such an
exhibition as the Boilly. To him the paintings and drawings repre-
sented living history, and as he had recently published a book on
Madame Recamier, he had witty and penetrating comments on the
personages portrayed. The army men were naturally more interested
in the military scenes, but here, too, I was impressed with the over-
all knowledge that these career soldiers had, not only of the history
of their country, but of its literature and its art. Nor did they feel it
unmanly or unmilitary to take an interest in the purely aesthetic.
The exhibition that certainly drew the biggest attendance of any
in this period at Sagan was the beautiful display in 1931 of drawings
185
MERCHANTS OF ART
by Jean-Honore Fragonard, organized for the benefit of the Maison
de Sante du Gardien de la Paix and inaugurated by the President of
the Republic, Gaston Doumergue. Strangely, there never had been
an exhibition entirely consecrated to the drawings of this remarkable
artist, one of France's greatest. For that reason, and thanks to the
official patronage, we were privileged to show for the first time since
they left France in the 18th century, the wonderful Fragonard draw-
ings from the Albertina in Vienna. Louis Reau, the distinguished
French art historian, headed the organizing committee and wrote
the preface to the catalogue, which opens in this delightful fashion:
"The idea of enrolling Frago, who has left the reputation of being
a somewhat naughty citizen, for the profit of the Hospital of the
Guardians of the Peace may seem at first an audacious paradox and
even somewhat piquant. But benevolence knows no laws and has
been accustomed to receive from all hands. Moreover, all those who
have made the turn of the works of Fragonard know that this versatile
Provencal, who seems to have as many guises as Proteus, did not
confine himself to scenes galantes and, under the influence of Diderot
and Jean-Jacques, changed himself at times into a teacher of the
virtues."
Mme. Edgar Stern, the wife of one of the lenders to the ex-
hibition, would have agreed with the first premise rather than the
second. Edgar Stern, the banker-collector, occasionally enjoyed add-
ing to his collection of drawings those which treated of the lighter
moods of the 18th century. Madame Stern was a strait-laced
woman of strict principles, and when he bought one it had to go
immediately to his private quarters, for she would not allow him to
hang it in the reception rooms of their elegant house on the avenue
Montaigne. The Frago which he acquired, Les Jets d'Eau, was a sub-
ject so popular in its time that the artist had to repeat it three or four
times. There is really nothing wanton or lustful about it; what harm
is there, after all, in enjoying the sight of disheveled young women
startled from their beds by the streams of water which their teasing
swains are directing through a trap door? But it was not for Madame
Stern.
Edgar Stern himself was an example par excellence of the collector
of the old school whose knowledge, empirically founded, equaled
that of the best experts in his chosen field, the French 18th century.
He owned a truly superb collection of drawings and water colors,
186
The Thirties, Paris
but his greatest pride was his gold-enameled snuffboxes, and he was
inordinately choosy about them. His reactions were instantaneous,
and if they were adverse, no words or outside opinion could convince
him differently. His keen glance needed no magnifying glass to detect
at once the smallest defect, and his fingers, as he felt the thickness
of the box, could discover if any part had been re-enameled or if the
inside had been reinforced to accommodate a later addition. All these
small technical details he knew both instinctively and empirically;
he saw and he felt simultaneously. He knew the markings, the poin-
gons, by heart and not only could say immediately whether the little
gold box was French or foreign — many were made in Germany or
Russia by French artists engaged at these courts — but he could also
detect with ease whether it was Parisian or provincial, a more subtle
problem.
His decisions to purchase or reject were usually made on the spot,
though occasionally he might pocket one of the precious boxes to take
home for comparison with others in his cabinet, in which case it was
returned within a few hours or he sent a check.
Stern had been one of my father's oldest clients, and as a young
man I learned much from their encounters, as they never ceased to
argue about the relative merits of some of the little gold boxes which
Stern already owned or new ones he was considering. My father al-
ways stood his ground, feeding the discussion with new arguments,
and Edgar Stern, who could be quite witty, even sarcastic, seemed
to thoroughly enjoy the give and take of opinion freely expressed.
When the exhibition of the Wallace-Bagatelle Collection was op-
ened, Stern was among the first to see this wonderful array of 18th
century treasures which even his sophisticated taste and natural
scepticism could not resist. He acquired one of the chief prizes, Hou-
don's penetrating marble portrait of Sophie Arnould. Her greatest
roles were from Rameau and Gluck and it is as Iphigenie en Avlide
that Houdon has depicted her. This lovely marble portrait is now in
the Louvre as a bequest of Edgar Stern.
The exhibition with which we chose to inaugurate our newly rebuilt
gallery on the rue de la Paix in 1934 featured the portraits of J. A. D.
Ingres whose influence spanned so many decades of French artistic
production. To emphasize this aspect of his genius, the exhibition,
"Ingres et ses Eleves," included a number of his pupils, Chasseriau,
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MERCHANTS OF ART
Granet, and others whose names are scarcely known in the United
States, like Flandrin, Girodet-Trioson, Amaury-Duval, and Mottez.
Again, the Guardians of the Peace were the beneficiaries, with the
President of France, Albert Lebrun, doing the opening honors and
Paul Jamot, Curator of Paintings at the Louvre, heading the organiz-
ing committee. Jamot also wrote the preface to the catalogue, in the
same elegant style which makes his studies on his cherished favorites,
Poussin and the Brothers Le Nain, such a joy to read.
A member of the committee was another curator in the Painting
Department of the Louvre, Jean Guiffrey, who had followed his
illustrious father, Jules- Joseph Guiffrey, late Director of the Gobelins,
in choosing a career in the arts. I knew Jean Guiffrey first during my
student days at the Louvre. Later, he went to the Boston Museum of
Fine Arts as Director, where he remained for several years before
returning to the Louvre. He was an indefatigable worker who under-
took the prodigious task of cataloguing the vast French drawing col-
lection of the Louvre, a work not yet completed. He also compiled a
remarkable catalogue raisonne of P. P. Prud'hon which is still the
definitive work on that refined 19th century artist.
Guiffrey was genial and stimulating, and, though he was capable
of being brusque if the occasion warranted, he was a man to whom
one could talk frankly. It was to Guiffrey that I once posed a problem
which was occupying my mind at the moment. It was not a problem
in which I was personally concerned, but one which I felt involved a
principle vital to both the art dealer and the museum man. A dealer
in a European city was fortunate enough to discover an extremely
important painting by a rare master. The dealer was not particularly
well-known, but he had a keen eye and was a real connoisseur. Thus,
when he called the attention of a trustee of the national museum to
the painting, the trustee, himself a collector, immediately communi-
cated the news to the Director, along with the price quoted, which
was considerable. The Director and two of his curators examined the
painting at the dealer's gallery, were patently impressed, and asked
to have it sent to the museum for further study. The painting was of
a period and a country in which the museum was particularly rich
and about which its curators were the leading experts. It would be to
them, in fact, that a private collector or a lesser museum might ap-
peal for information about the artist and for an authentication of one
of his canvases. Thus, when the Director of the national museum rec-
188
The Thirties, Paris
ommended the purchase and the dealer was paid, the fact that the
invoice carried the customary "to the best of my knowledge" guar-
antee of authenticity was not of great weight to the officials. Their
decision had been based on a judgment arrived at after weeks of
study and hours of careful x-ray, ultraviolet, and infrared photograph-
ing, as well as microscopic examination of paint particles, in their
own laboratories.
So the painting was duly hung in the permanent collection with
the usual fanfare due an important new acquisition and was much
admired by the public. Two or three months later, however, a visit-
ing connoisseur expressed his doubt about the authorship of the paint-
ing. He did not question its period or its country of origin; but he did
believe the painting to be by the hand of a pupil and not by the master
himself. Consternation in the ranks; the authorities examined the
painting anew, consulted further scholars, made further comparisons,
and finally concurred in the new opinion. The painting was definitely
by the hand of a pupil. Whereupon the museum officials returned to
the dealer, requested him to take back his painting and to refund the
purchase price. The dealer refused, and the museum promptly insti-
tuted suit. Now for the crux of my question: upon what grounds
could the museum base its suit. Was there a fraud, a misrepresenta-
tion of facts? If so, what facts? These were the questions I posed to
Guiffrey, asking him what he would have done in a similar situation.
His answer was immediate and categoric — he would sue.
Then, I pursued, would it not be normal to infer that you endow
the dealer with a certain omniscience? To say the least, you credit
him with knowing more about this artist than the officials of the mu-
seum, that "the best of his knowledge" is better than the supposedly
best knowledge of the specialists in the artist's work? Then upon
whom are you going to call as final authority to decide in a court of
justice who is right and who painted the picture?
I did not get the answer from Guiffrey, nor have I had a satisfactory
one from anyone else. The case itself did not give it to me, for the
war came along and I never knew whether it came to trial or whether
the museum saw the possible traps involved and dropped the whole
thing.
The fact that I could talk so freely and frankly with an official of
the Louvre marked a considerable change in the climate of the art
world. In earlier days a certain distance was always maintained be-
189
MERCHANTS OF ART
tween the French museum men and the trade, and dealers did not
feel as free to consult with them as with the Germans or the Italians.
There has always been a sort of unwritten code, more or less strict
and more or less official according to the country concerned, govern-
ing the actions of museum staff members toward the lay world,
particularly toward the dealer. The basic idea is a sound one; the
museum official, like Caesar's wife, must be above reproach and so
regulate his behavior that at no time can he be charged with acting
for personal profit or interest. In the past, however, especially in
France, this sometimes reaches ridiculous proportions.
It is elementary that men in public positions should not put them-
selves under obligation, yet they should be credited with sufficient
good sense and intelligence to dispense with an awkward convention.
The mere fact that a man chooses a museum or scholarly career would
seem to indicate a lack of preoccupation with money-making. Con-
versely, friendly relations with the trade may be of considerable
benefit to a museum. A dealer often has advance information about
collections which are to be sold, or knows of a collector who is in the
mood to make a donation, or, more practically, is himself willing to
assist in making possible an expensive purchase. For the dealer feels
a personal pride in a museum collection which he is instrumental in
augmenting. Art dealing is based on good faith and reputation, values
which cannot be translated into dollars and cents. It would never
occur to a reputable dealer to jeopardize these assets for the sake of
one possible sale. The museum official who is as good a judge of men
as he is of works of art knows this.
Quite aside from this strictly ethical problem, however, the general
attitude of the scholarly world in France during the days of my youth
was a somewhat stuffy one. Curators knew thoroughly the permanent
collections of their own museums and knew the leading private col-
lections throughout France almost as well. Therefore, they reasoned,
or so it seemed, that they were already acquainted with all the capital
works of art. If the dealers' discoveries were not already on their lists
of known works, they could be of little importance. Italian and Ger-
man scholars, on the other hand, were always eager to see what the
art market had to offer and, in general, were more objective in their
relationships with the trade.
To be strictly fair to the older generation in France, however, I
must acknowledge that as far as the firm of Seligmann was concerned,
190
The Thirties, Paris
there had also been a degree of animosity between my father and the
museum officials. It stemmed from the fact that Jacques Seligmann
was one of J. P. Morgan's most active agents, and it was held against
him that he was thus helping to remove from France some of her
greatest art treasures. It would have been more sporting of them,
perhaps, to have tempered this resentment by recognizing that a
number of Morgan's generous gestures toward the French museums
were made directly at my father's suggestion, but it would also per-
haps have been less human.
On the other hand, these same men were unfailingly helpful and
kind to me during my student days at the Louvre, going out of their
way to answer my questions and resolve my perplexities. None of
them ever allowed any resentment they may have felt to color the
professor-student relationship, and I owe much of my direct artistic
education to them. Later, when the relation changed to dealer-
museum official, I made every effort to maintain this rapport by al-
ways notifying the proper curator of any great work I acquired,
whether in France itself or elsewhere, so that he might have first
chance at it. Likewise, I abstained from bidding at public auctions
if any indication were given me that the museum was interested in
the same object I sought.
Happily, time has created a climate more propitious for personal
relationships between French museum officials and the art dealers.
The present generation of scholars and museum men (and women,
itself a new development) has been through experiences which make
the ivory tower seem less precious, teaching has become less rigid,
and there is altogether a better understanding of the assistance which
responsible art firms can give to scholarship.
191
CHAPTER XVIII
The Eurovean Scene
i
<p
n time, as the United States demanded more of my atten-
tion, it became impossible for me to see personally all the
clients who came to the Palais de Sagan. I did try to call on them as I
traveled about Europe on the necessary buying trips. Purchasing was
one function of the business which always remained strictly under
my control, as in my father's day it had remained under his, and the
travel afforded me an opportunity to see clients whom I might miss
in Paris. In the course of the years, I made nearly as many circuits of
the big European cities as I made trips across the Atlantic. There were
few journeys at that time which could be made comfortably by plane
(an exception was the Paris-London service, on which I could fly
over in the morning and return the same day ) , so my trips were made
by train or, more often, by car.
If I am still remembered by the older personnel of European hotels
where I stopped frequently, chances are I am identified as the boss
of Emmanuel, my chauffeur. Shortly after my discharge from the
army, my father gave me an American army-surplus Cadillac. For
some reason, war nerves, perhaps, I found myself quite incapable of
driving again, though I had had a license since I was eighteen, and it
was decided that I should hire a chauffeur. I specified that the ap-
plicants should be ex-soldiers and the first person to answer my ad-
vertisement turned out to be the tallest, broadest, blackest, hand-
somest Martiniquan I had ever seen. That was Emmanuel. I liked him
on sight and, since his war record was excellent, I hired him at once,
much to the annoyance of my father who was sure that we should
all be murdered in our beds. There was never a more devoted em-
ployee. He drove the car as though it were a part of him and cared
192
The European Scene
for it meticulously. He was a fine athlete, enormously strong, and
when he appeared on the beach at some Riviera resort where I might
be stopping, he was the cynosure of every feminine eye. He had a girl
in every town we visited. I remember being a bit annoyed one morn-
ing in the south of France, when we were to make an early start for
an urgent return to Paris, that Emmanuel had not come to my hotel
room to fetch the bags. Upon descending, I found Emmanuel in the
courtyard surrounded by four giggling girls, all of whom had arisen
at five o'clock to come and bid him farewell. He eventually married
an attractive and extremely nice French girl. Emmanuel, for all his
superb physique, had the southerner's susceptible lungs, and he died,
shortly before World War II, after a long bout with tuberculosis.
During his service I owned a low-slung, very sporty Hispano, which
I had bought as much to please Emmanuel as myself. I never see a
dashing car of that kind without being reminded of him.
Whether by plane, train, or car, at least once each year I visited
Berlin, Vienna, the Italian cities, and occasionally Spain, to buy and
to call upon clients. It was my father's belief that it was indispensable
to call upon a client in his own home surroundings if one is to under-
stand him and eventually be of help to him, and my own experience
has borne this out. It is particularly true in the beginning of a dealer-
collector relationship and has advantages for both. It is easier to talk
of art matters and exchange views outside the gallery where com-
ments are less likely to be interpreted as arguments to effectuate a
sale. In a business establishment, the new client may feel somewhat
on the defensive ( an attitude which gradually disappears as he gains
confidence), but at home he is relaxed and better able to assess the
knowledge and character of the dealer. The dealer, in turn, has a
comprehensive view of his client's taste, what periods are apt to
interest him or stimulate his curiosity; whether he is susceptible of
being introduced to new periods which will augment and diversify
his collection or is simply interested in what is fashionably in vogue
at the moment.
The dealer may also find that he has the ungrateful task of re-
educating the collector about what he already owns. To take an ex-
treme example, one may find that the "masterpieces" which the col-
lector has described are actually over-restored, embellished, or even
out-and-out frauds, and one must tactfully disillusion him and show
riim where his mistake is, usually in the dangerous and costly game
193
MERCHANTS OF ART
of bargain hunting. With collectors of knowledge and long experi-
ence, a home call affords a more leisurely atmosphere for discussing
new developments in collecting, exchanging views about what the
collector owns, giving or asking an opinion.
Quite aside from business, my trips about Europe and the calls
upon collectors were a liberal education in the sui-generis character
of the collections of various nationalities. It has been to me one of
the most interesting revelations of the art world. There are certain
painters, certain types of sculpture, which will be found only in Ger-
man collections, others which will appear only in French cabinets.
Each collector will arbitrarily exclude other schools and artists, refus-
ing stubbornly to recognize their merits.
One class of works of art always had an international appeal. The
precious little objets d'art of the Middle Ages and the Renaissance —
early ivories and enamels, small primitive paintings, jewels and
painted enamels, majolicas, and miniature bronzes — were collected
almost everywhere. Perfect examples are the Guelph Treasure and
the Hesse-Darmstadt Collections of Germany and the Chalandon,
Spitzer, Dormeuil, Rothschild, and a half-dozen other collections in
France.
However, if one eliminates this common link it is often sufficient
to read an old catalogue list to identify the nationality of its owner,
with the possible exception of the English. England's amateurs have
seldom been limited in their tastes, a trait engendered perhaps by
their essentially international business interests. Were there not por-
traits of Napoleon in great English houses even when his name was
anathema? The artistry of Jacques Louis David and Baron Gros out-
weighed the opprobrium of the subject. The collectors of the United
States, too, have escaped narrow confines, due possibly to variety of
background and a desire to escape from the constricting frontiers of
old Europe.
France being the one country where every century has been
blessed with the full bloom of artistic creation, it is surprising that no
Frenchman, at least to my knowledge, has ever thought of building
a collection which would reflect this constantly renewed evolution.
Paintings earlier than the 15th century are perforce rare, but what
aesthetic, intellectual, and didactic importance there would be in
a series including panels or illuminated manuscript pages from that
period, portraits of the 16th century and canvases from the sophisti-
194
The European Scene
cated Fontainebleau school, great classic compositions of the 17th
century, and so on to our own time. Instead — and I speak now in
generalities for certainly there were brilliant exceptions — the average
French collector preferred the productions of his own 18th century,
with a tendency to include the less meritorious along with the best.
He might add a sprinkling of earlier objects, and there might be
paintings and drawings of the early 19th century, but these were
often inherited rather than acquired.
The celebrated Camille Groult Collection is a good case in point.
He was a collector who almost never strayed from the French 18th
century and when he did, went only as far as England. Though Eng-
lish 18th-century paintings occupied an impressive amount of space
in his home, not all of them had been chosen with the discrimination
of their French counterparts. It is, of course, for his French drawings
that his collection is best known, but his La Tour and Perronneau
portraits, his Fragonards, his Moreau gouaches, and his splendid
group of Hubert Robert panels were all first quality.
Camille Groult was of my father's day, and if I ever met him, I
have no remembrance of it, but I did know the son, Jean Groult, who
inherited his father's fortune and his collection. Though he genuinely
enjoyed the inherited treasures, I believe he hardly ever added to
them and even from time to time has parted with some. Groult was
a strange man, pleasant and courteous, but jealous of his privacy to
an almost absurd degree. The Groult house, at the corner of the Ave-
nue Malakoff and the Avenue Foch just opposite Boni de Castellane's
pink palace, was a Paris landmark, with lovely gardens extending
the width of the block. He once told me of a threatened lawsuit by
his immediate neighbors because he wished to raise his already high
walls by a trellis so there would be no direct view of his house and
garden. Curiously enough, he allowed the quiet and peace winch he
sought to be challenged by the raucous voices and the rutilant feath-
ers of the parrots and peacocks which he kept about both house and
gardens. He was fastidious in his person and extremely meticulous
about many things. It was thus a real surprise to find his most precious
Fragonard and Watteau drawings "displayed" on the floor, leaning
against chairs and other pieces of furniture. He had a strong streak
of economy which occasionally manifested itself in peculiar ways.
One day I arrived at his home in a pouring rain, and was ushered into
the large gallery where most of the English paintings hung. There in
195
MERCHANTS OF ART
the middle of the floor was a huge pail collecting the water which
dripped from the ceiling. It did not seem to affect him particularly.
His only comment was to turn to the butler who had shown me in and
say, in the mild tone of one who has repeated it often, that something
really should be done about the roof.
In contrast to his attitude of seeming aloofness, he was always
well-posted on the many rumors that circulated in the art world and
took considerable pleasure in repeating them with a charming wit
and an unexpected sense of humor. His desire for quiet and for ano-
nymity was perhaps also inherited from his father. Camille Groult
was one of the organizers of a scheme to furnish the Chateau de
Bagatelle when it became an artistic monument. One of the ideas
advanced was to solicit gifts of works of art and to name a room for
the more generous donors. Groult is supposed to have said that if he
knew his name would be given to a room where he had left his works
of art, he would rather they were burned, and then added, "after my
death/'
German collections were strong in the so-called Little Masters of
Holland, not always the best, and the Germans were the first outside
Italy itself, England again excepted, to stress the Italian seicento and
the mannerist artists. I remember my surprise at seeing paintings by
Magnasco in Austrian private collections some forty years ago when
his identity had barely been revealed. There was also among the
Germans a wide and rather indiscriminate love for the more provin-
cial primitive Teutonic paintings and wood sculptures. Strange that
collectors otherwise showing great refinement should become en-
gulfed in nationalistic feeling at the expense of quality. If there is
a parallel in the emotional motivation of American collectors toward
the cruder types of Americana, these are at least regarded more ob-
jectively, aesthetically speaking.
On the other hand, the Germans were among the first to recognize
the importance of 19th century French painting, and their interest
was not limited to the Impressionists and Post-Impressionists; it went
back to Courbet and Delacroix. This German appreciation for the
romanticist-realist phase of French painting undoubtedly had multi-
ple roots reaching into the soil of romantic literature, philosophy, and
social evolution. The mutual admiration of writers and artists of the
romantic period — Goethe, Schiller, Hugo, Byron, Delacroix — is too
196
The European Scene
well known to require enlargement here. Courbet, of course, belongs
to a younger generation, but his "realism" certainly owes much to
the earlier romanticism.
I remember going with my father to call upon Dr. Georg Swarzen-
ski, then director of the Staedelinstitut in Frankfurt, one of Germany's
greatest museums, and how impressed I was to find that he, a fore-
most medievalist, also had an intense interest in modern art. In fact,
he was also director of the Municipal Gallery and, as such, responsi-
ble for building Frankfurt's rich collection of Impressionist and Post-
Impressionist paintings and sculpture at a time when this was almost
pioneering. There was probably no greater scholar of the medieval
period and the Dark Ages which preceded it than Dr. Swarzenski.
Like many great thinkers, he had humility, and one of his most en-
dearing traits was a complete absence of the professorial attitude.
When Hitler's excesses drove him from his post in Frankfurt to the
friendly shelter of a research fellowship at the Boston Museum, the
late Dr. Harold Edgell declared him "the finest acquisition" he had
ever made for the museum.
In Belgium and Holland, collectors have largely preferred their
national art. I do not say this to belittle their collections, only to de-
fine them. Who could doubt, for instance, the value of the remarkable
Flemish paintings of Emile Renders? There have been notable ex-
ceptions, however, of collectors whose interests were truly universal.
The Adolphe Stoclets of Brussels, friends and clients of my father
before me, reacted to a lovely object of no matter what period with
instinctive recognition of the indefinables which make one work a
masterpiece and another a mere artifact. Quality may sometimes ex-
press itself by what is left out, again by the inclusion of the tiniest
accent; to convey it, the artist must be endowed with a God-given
sensitivity; to recognize it the beholder must possess an equal God-
given receptivity. The Stoclets had this.
I have known few people who knew as much about works of art,
who reacted so electrically to quality, and to whom collecting was
so much a part of their lives. It would be hard to say which of the
two Stoclets was the more perceptive. They were always together at
exhibitions, in the galleries, or traveling. At home one was as eager
as the other to show their treasures to a sympathetic audience.
There was in the Stoclets a focusing of learning and empiricism; it
was the tactile value of a work of art, be it sculptured or painted, to
197
MERCHANTS OF ART
which they reacted first; even if one cannot stroke a painting, the
highly sensitive eye transmits the sensation to the tips of the fingers.
The obvious did not interest them; an object must leave something
unsaid, must appeal to the imagination, which may explain their
special love of Oriental art, and of the very early periods of the West.
Theirs was a unique collection, encompassing all forms of aesthetic
creation from the elemental to the sophisticated, irrespective of na-
tional origin. To house this highly diversified collection, they wisely
built, around 1905, not a traditional house, but a beautifully designed
contemporary one, carefully planned to provide a rich but simple
background. Joseph Hoffmann of Vienna was the architect and the
house is as perfect in its way as Camondo's Petit Trianon.
I had visited Mr. and Mrs. Stoclet in the course of my European
travels before World War II but did not see them again until 1949.
That summer I had no excuse for visiting Brussels, but so persistently
did the thought of the Stoclets recur to me, that I telephoned one
day and hastened to their home. The meeting proved all I had antic-
ipated. They seemed as happy to see me and my wife, whom they
had not met, as I was to see them. Although Aldolphe Stoclet was
confined to a wheel chair, they were as eagerly interested as ever in
the doings of the art world. The great exhibition of German treasures
of the Middle Ages at the Musee des Beaux Arts was then in progress,
and, despite Adolphe Stoclet's infirmity, the two had visited it several
times and planned to go again. Their lovely home, except for the ad-
dition of a few more fine objects, remained unchanged, but one visit
could afford only a fleeting glimpse of the beauties within immediate
reach. I was afraid, too, of tiring them by an overlong stay, so plans
were made to call again the following year.
When that same autumn I had occasion to write to their son con-
cerning some books I had promised to send from New York, he re-
plied with the sad news that his father had died two weeks after our
visit, and that Mrs. Stoclet had followed him only a few days later.
As in the Low Countries, there have always been a few collectors
of international repute among the Italians and Spaniards. Jose Lazaro
de Galanda of Madrid, for instance, was a client and friend of my
father, and his son spent his student days in Paris, often as a guest in
our home. During the troubled years of the thirties, Lazaro himself
occupied a large apartment in Paris and later came to New York
where his distinguished figure, wrapped in the large cape which he
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Plate 101
Germain Pilon (c. 1535-1590). "Saint Barbara," marble, 5' lO1/-". From the col-
lections of Eugene Kraemer, Paris, and Baron R. de Gunzburg, Paris. Acquired
by the Nelson Gallery-Atkins Museum, Kansas City, Missouri, Nelson Fund,
1949.
Plate 102
Jean-Honore Fragonard (1732-1806). "Portrait of Hubert Robert," 25%" x 211/i". From the collec-
tions of Felix Doistau and Doctor Turner. Exhibited: "Chardin-Fragonard," Paris, 1907, #102;
"Fragonard," Paris, Musee des Arts Decoratifs, 1921, #20; "Art Francais," Amsterdam, Rijksmu-
seum, 1926, #51; "Portraits francais," Paris, 1945, #44. Acquired by the Samuel H. Kress Foun-
dation, 1952. Present collection: National Gallery of Art, Washington, D.C., Samuel H. Kress
Collection, loan.
Plate 103
J. A. D. Ingres (1780-1867). "Portrait of the Comtesse de La Rue," 1804, ll%"x9%". From the
family of the sitter. Acquired by Emil Buhrle, Zurich, 1952.
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Plate 105
Andrea Man tegna (1431-1506). "Portrait of a Man," QVi" x 7%", possibly representing the Hun-
garian humanist Janus Pannonius. Acquired by the Samuel H. Kress Foundation, 1950. Present
collection: National Gallery of Art, Washington, D.C., Samuel H. Kress Collection.
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Plate 107
English, c. 1000. "St. John the Evangelist," 12" x 7W, illumination from a Manuscript of the Four
Gospels. From the collection of the Dukes d'Arenberg, Brussels. Acquired by the Pierpont Morgan
Library, New York, 1954 (M. 869).
Plate 108
J. A. D. Ingres (1780-1867). "Portrait of Dr. de France," 1811, 24" x 19%". From the collections
of Lucien Bonaparte, Prince de Canino, and the Due de Trevise, Paris. Acquired by Emil Biihrle,
Zurich, 1955.
Plate 109
Jan Vermeer (1632-1675). "Portrait of a Young Girl," 17%" x 15%". From the collection of the
Dukes d'Arenberg, Brussels. Acquired by Mr. and Mrs. Charles B. Wrightsman, New York, 1955.
Plate 110
Philippe de Champaigne (1602-1674). "The Vision of Saint Joseph," 6' 10" x 5' 1%" '. From the
Eglise des Minimes, Paris, Cardinal Fesch, and Princess Ney de la Moskowa. Acquired by the Na-
tional Gallery, London, 1957. (Reproduced by courtesy of the Trustees.)
Plate 111
Camille Corot (1796-1875). "Judith," 1872, 4lW'x24W.
Collection: Mr. and Mrs. Germain Seligman, New York, 1943.
Plate 112
Kahlil Gibran ( 1922- ) . "The Voice in the Wilderness," welded iron,
height 7'. Acquired by the Episcopal Academy, Philadelphia, 1958.
Plate 113 ,
Rico Lebrun ( 1900- ) . "Crucifixion Triptych," central panel, 1950, overall dimensions
16'x26'. Acquired by Syracuse University, Syracuse, New York. Gift of the William C.
Whitney Foundation, Michael Straight, President, 1957.
Plate 114
Giovanni da Bologna (1524-1608). "Cupid," marble, height 29". From the col-
lection of the Ambassador G. Auriti, Rome. Acquired by the Samuel H. Kress
Foundation 1952. Present collection: The Samuel H. Kress Collection in the
beattle Art Museum.
Plate 115
Benedetto da Maiano (1442-1497). "Madonna and Child," marble, 22%" x 15%". From the collec-
tion of the Prince of Liechtenstein, Vaduz. Acquired by the Samuel H. Kress Foundation, 1954.
Present collection: National Gallery of Art, Washington, D.C., Samuel H. Kress Collection, loan.
Plate 117
Eugene Delacroix (1798-1863). "Apollo Conquering the Serpent Python," first oil study for the
ceiling of the Apollo Gallery of the Louvre, 1850, 21%" x 18". From the collections of J. B. Faure,
Due de Trevise, and Marquis de Gramont. Collection: Mr. and Mrs. Germain Seligman, New York,
1957.
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Plate 119
Edgar Degas (1834-1917). "Danseuses au Foyer," 24" x 19%". From the collection of Robert Treat
Paine II, Boston. Acquired by Emil Biihrle, Zurich, 1951.
Plate 122
Bonino da Campione (1335P-1397). "Prudentia" (detail), marble, total height 261/4". From the
collection of the Prince of Liechtenstein, Vaduz. Acquired by the Samuel H. Kress Foundation,
1954. Present collection: National Gallery of Art, Washington, D.C., Samuel H. Kress Collection,
loan.
Plate 123 . . , . .
Andrea Orcagna (active 1344-1368). "Angel with Tambourine, marble, height
21". From the collection of the Prince of Liechtenstein, Vaduz. Acquired by the
Samuel H. Kress Foundation, 1954. Present collection: National Gallery of Art,
Washington, D.C., Samuel H. Kress Collection, loan.
Plate 124
Franco-Spanish, 15th century. "Piete Nostre Seigneur,"
c. 1425-1440, 24V2" x 17". From the James W. Barney Col-
lection, New York. Acquired by the Louvre, Paris, 1950.
Plate 125
French, 15th century. "Holy Trinity," c. 1475, 3' 4Vi" x 3' lOW. From the
collection of the Ambassador Camille Barrere, Rome. Acquired by the Cleve-
land Museum of Art, Mr. and Mrs. William H. Marlatt Collection, 1960.
Plate 126
French (He de France), c. 1300. "The Holy Trinity," marble, 28Wfxl3W'. Acquired
by the Samuel H. Kress Foundation, 1953. Present collection: The Samuel H. Kress
Collection in the Portland Art Museum.
Plate 127
French, c. 1530-1540. "Autumn," hard stone, height 4' 51//'. From
the Theodore Schiff Collection, Paris, with pendant, "Winter." Ac-
quired by the Victoria and Albert Museum, London, 1959.
Plate 128
Simon Vouet (1590-1649). "Allegory of Peace," 7' 9" x 5' 9". From the Galerie du Regent (Due
d'Orleans), Palais-Royal. Acquired by the Societe des Amis du Louvre, 1961. Present collection:
The Louvre, Paris.
The European Scene
sometimes affected, became a familiar sight in the art galleries. He
was interested primarily in the Gothic and Renaissance periods and
had a remarkable perspicacity. But he also had that corollary trait of
many intuitive collectors — a certain blindness to the merit of even
important objects which were not his own finds. Nevertheless, he
gathered a beautiful collection which has now gone back to Spain
and graces the museum in Madrid which bears his name.
In Barcelona there were two interesting collectors, Luis Plandiura
and Francisco Cambo. When I first met Plandiura, he had eyes for
few things later than the 14th century, but within that somewhat
limited scope, his taste was impressive. He had already acquired
several Gothic sculptures from me when I had the good luck to dis-
cover three Spanish altar frontals of the 12th and 13th centuries, rare
items indeed. In fact, I have never seen their like again outside a
public collection and they are now, thanks to Plandiura, in the Barce-
lona Museum. I lost touch with Plandiura in the years before his
death, but I understand that he later extended the scope of his col-
lecting to include the works of contemporary artists, particularly
those of his countryman, Picasso.
Francisco Cambo was a successful financier of wide interests whom
I saw more often in Paris or, later, in New York enroute to Buenos
Aires where he lived during the last years of his life. He was a highly
cultivated man whose Spanish intensity gave a warmth and sparkle
to his always interesting conversation. His collecting efforts were
devoted to assembling a few diversified and carefully chosen paint-
ings by leading masters. My firm's contribution to that effort was a
capital work by Quentin de La Tour, the rare 18th century portrait
painter who is still too little appreciated in this country. It represents
one Monsieur de Laideguive, Notaire, and, strangely enough, I ac-
quired it here in the United States. It had been in the family of Wil-
liam Tilden Blodgett, one of the founders and benefactors of the
Metropolitan Museum since 1874, as attested by the original bill of
sale and the inventory of the Blodgett Collection.
England, from the standpoint of numbers the richest collecting
country for many generations, can also boast the highest average of
quality, as well as the widest coverage of country and period. In the
medieval field, one need only examine the bequests to the Victoria
and Albert Museum — the Salting, for one — or such catalogues as
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MERCHANTS OF ART
those of the Taylor sales to realize the grandeur and quality of local
collections. French primitives, Italian paintings of all periods, Span-
ish paintings, French canvases of the 17th and 18th centuries, some
of the greatest masterpieces were, and still are, to be found in Eng-
land. The aggregation of Poussins and Claude Lorrains is still the
largest outside the Louvre, though 17th century France is repre-
sented almost entirely by those two artists except for the Philippe de
Champaignes in the Wallace Collection and the National Gallery.
English collections have always been particularly rich in sculpture,
a medium which few collectors have truly understood. Again one
must except such men as Gustave Dreyfus in France, James Simon
and Oscar Huldschinsky in Berlin, Benda, Stefan von Auspitz and
Camillo Castiglioni in Austria, from whose collections came many
of the great Italian Renaissance marbles today adorning American
museums. One need only visit the Victoria and Albert or the British
Museum or look at the catalogues of still existing private collections
to realize the outstanding taste of the English amateur.
One of the firm's most charming English clients was Mrs. A. Chester
Beatty, wife of the diamond and copper king, who was furnishing her
London house in the French 18th century manner and covering its
walls with the superb collection of Impressionist and Post-Impression-
ist paintings winch made her famous in the art world. Her beautiful
Seurat, he Phare de Honfleur, and a handsome Toulouse-Lautrec, La
Femme se faisant les mains, came from us. Chester Beatty (he is now
Sir Chester), though generally in sympathy with his wife's acquisi-
tions, was more attracted by some of the neglected French artists of
the end of the 19th century. His real love, however, was, and is, his
celebrated library of medieval and Oriental illuminated manuscripts.
One of the most interesting of our English clients was Sir William
Burrell, the Scottish shipping magnate to whom I made one of my
earliest personal sales. My father was still alive and we were to-
gether at Sagan one day when Mr. William Burrell ( not yet knighted )
was announced; the name meant nothing to either of us. It was my
father's custom to meet everybody who came, though he might after-
ward leave me or someone else in charge. On this occasion we both
went out to greet the visitor. After the usual amenities, the three of
us went together through the different Gothic and Renaissance
rooms, the periods in which Burrell had expressed an interest. Then
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The European Scene
my father left us, not that he had something of immediate import to
do, but he had not been impressed by Burrell's comments and thought
he was wasting his time. Burrell did not strike me as a collector or
as having a collector's potentialities, financially or in taste. At that
time he was perhaps fifty years of age, of the lean wiry type that
changes little in appearance in the middle years, and he spoke with
a Scotch burr so marked that at times I had considerable difficulty
understanding him.
I was left to cope with the rest of the visit as well as I could. We
had been walking about for more than two hours ( it was possible to
spend as many more at Sagan without seeing everything ) , and I was
at my wit's end. Nothing seemed to retain his attention and he asked
for few prices. On the other hand, I reasoned that since this man had
already stayed this long, it must be proof of his desire to purchase
something. Finally, in desperation, I took him to one of the lateral
wings of Sagan where there were stored, without much order, a lot
of items of lesser interest, left-overs, so to speak, from a collection
which my father had bought several years before solely for the sake
of acquiring three Gothic sculptures of great beauty. It was an in-
spiration, for at last he found there two Flemish wood sculptures,
angels of strictly decorative character, which took his fancy. Now I
thought the matter would be quickly settled, but I was quite mis-
taken. With true Scotch canniness, he bargained, and another half-
hour went by before the deal was closed. Happily, the objects were
of little importance and he could get them almost at his own price.
This first visit of Sir William to Sagan brings to mind my first en-
counter with Jacob Epstein of Baltimore, not so much for any simi-
larity between the two men, as for the reminder which both incidents
brought me, that judgments must never be based on appearances or
on a cursory acquaintance.
The scene this time was New York when the firm was occupying
the house at the corner of 55th Street and Fifth Avenue with direct
access to the street. It was late afternoon, and we were about to
close for the day. I by chance was just at the entrance when the door
opened and an elderly man walked in. From his unprepossessing
aspect and rather despondent expression, I suspected a "touch"
(shades of the Baroness de Rothschild), but to my surprise he asked
to see Mr. Seligmann. The reception clerk evidently shared my im-
201
MERCHANTS OF ART
pression and instead of turning to me, inquired what he wished to
see Mr. Seligmann about. Somewhat testily, the older man replied
that he would like to see some paintings.
Upon this I introduced myself, but this was only the beginning of
the surprises, for without further preliminary, he demanded,
"How many Rembrandts can you show me?"
Now I decided I was facing a jester. One did not usually ask how
many Rembrandts, but "have you a Rembrandt." Out of courtesy to
his age, if nothing more, I showed him into the large first floor gallery,
which served as a sort of reception room, and answered that I was
very pleased and proud to own one painting by Rembrandt, and an
important one. In no way daunted, he then said, "Oh, is that all? I've
just been visiting several of your competitors, where IVe seen at least
a dozen!"
I was somewhat baffled, but I showed the one and only Rembrandt
we owned at the moment, a portrait of Joris de Caullery from the
Yerkes Collection. He examined it carefully and noncommittally, ex-
plaining that he was anxious to own several Rembrandts of different
types and periods. When he left he gave me his name and address,
with the request that I let him know should I acquire any others.
He did not buy the Rembrandt, but how wrong it would have been
to base a lasting judgment on either of these first visits. Jacob Epstein
assembled an excellent collection, largely of Old Masters, which he
bequeathed to the Baltimore Museum. Sir William Burrell eventually
built up, in his castle at Berwick-on-Tweed near the Scottish-English
border, one of the greatest collections of Gothic tapestries in Britian,
several of which he acquired from my firm. An especially interesting
one was from the so-called Quo Vadis series and depicted Saint Peter
being released from the Mamertine Prison. Woven in France in the
15th century, it had once hung in the church of St. Peter in Vienne,
France, and we had acquired it, along with one of its companions
( Simon the Magician, now in the Sidney Ehrman Collection in San
Francisco ) from the Paul Blanchet de Rives Collection.
When I knew Sir William better I found his a most sympathetic
personality, modest and unassuming. I rather lost touch with him in
the late thirties and forties and was surprised to learn recently that
he later turned to paintings, gathering a large and diversified col-
lection of 19th century French works, as well as a small group of Old
Masters. In 1944, Sir William and Lady Burrell presented their entire
202
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collection, more than four thousand items, to the city of Glasgow,
provided a building to house it, and continued to add to the Gothic
section, his first love, until his death a few years ago.
My frequent visits to England were more often for the purpose of
buying than for calling on clients. That country has always been, with
France, one of the two great reservoirs which supply the art market.
Neither Germany, Italy, nor Spain has ever been as rich a source ex-
cept in certain special categories. Not only have there been great
English collectors since medieval times, but the political fortunes of
Europe have often directed exiles, notably during the French Revolu-
tion, from the continent toward England, carrying with them their
goods and chattels.
It was doubtless as the result of such an emigration that one of
my most important finds made its way to England — a set of fourteen
portrait drawings representing personages of and around the court
of France in the late 16th century. None was signed, but all carried,
in an old script, notations of the sitter's names and what appeared to
be record or inventory numbers.
For this period, the great authority was Louis Dimier, whose mon-
umental Histoire de la Peinture de Portrait en France au XVIe Siecle
had just appeared. I knew Dimier largely by reputation, which rep-
resented him as a hard-working scholar, somewhat grouchy, and
decidedly a recluse. I felt that my find was worthy of his attention,
so, since he had no telephone, I sent him a carefully worded note,
asking permission to call. Several days went by before I received his
polite but hardly cordial reply which, though it indicated a time for
the appointment, did not hide the fact that he was extremely busy
and did not welcome such interruptions. He kept me waiting some
minutes in the little salon of his dark and gloomy apartment. When,
after a few words of explanation, I handed him the drawings I had
brought, he glanced quickly at the top one, looked at me over his
glasses, and said, "I suppose you expect me to say that they are all by
Clouet."
I hastened to disabuse him of this idea, adding that in my opinion
if one or two showed affinities to the master, there was definitely more
than one hand involved. Somewhat mollified by this, Dimier ex-
amined several more in silence and then there began to be a percepti-
ble change in his manner, almost an excitement, as he studied more
203
MERCHANTS OF ART
attentively the record numbers and the names written in old script
on the face of the drawings. Suddenly, he jumped up and exclaimed,
"But this is highly interesting. I really believe you have made an ex-
traordinary discovery. I'll have to check, of course, but it looks to me
as though some of these drawings are the missing portraits from the
Fevret de Fontette Collection."
The Fevret de Fontette Collection was one of those fabulous ac-
cumulations of historical documentation — letters, engravings, draw-
ings— which the erudite of the 18th century were so fond of gather-
ing. Fontette himself was a member of the Parliament of Dijon and
of the Academy there, and a correspondent of the Academy of Paris.
In the 1760's, he sold some twenty thousand documents to Louis XV
for the Bibliotheque Royale, including the careful catalogue which
he had made. Thus it was known that the collection had once con-
tained a large group of 16th century French portrait drawings but, for
some unrecorded reason, these were apparently not included in the
sale. No one knew what happened to them. In the 19th century some
of them turned up in the Ashmolean Museum in England, via an
English collector, and it was considered a possibility that more might
have gone to England during the troubled years of the Revolution.
Fontette had carefully marked all the documents of his collection
with a special mark and a number; both Fontette's script and the
marking were well known to Dimier, thus his immediate recognition.
Moreover, one of the drawings was dated, presumably by the hand
of the artist, and all of them carried very early notations in pencil —
carefully retraced in ink — identifying the sitters.
No wonder Dimier was moved to excitement. Not only would such
a find add fourteen more beautiful drawings to the slim roster of
French 16th century portraits, but it would be of considerable his-
torical interest, as all represented personages closely connected with
the court of Henri III.
I gladly acceded to Dimier's request to keep the drawings for a
while. From the way he spoke, I thought it would be at least a week
or two before I heard from him. Not so, however. Evidently the old
gentleman could not restrain his scholarly curiosity, for a day or two
later I received a special delivery note, this time couched in quite
cordial terms, asking me to call again. Naturally, I dropped every-
thing and went. His hunch had been right; they were the Fontette
marks. Further, he had identified twelve of them as by Francois
204
The European Scene
Quesnel, favorite painter of Henri III, whose works and importance
are still being explored.
The atmosphere was entirely changed and Dimier was as pleasant
as his misanthropic nature would allow. There is nothing like the re-
discovery of a long lost work of art to put the crustiest scholar in a
good mood, and here were fourteen of them. It was almost with def-
erence that he congratulated me and asked permission to publish the
drawings in a small book to appear as an addendum to his three vol-
umes. Of course, I was only too happy to comply and to tell him,
when he suggested that they should be exhibited, that I was already
planning such a showing at Sagan.
The exhibition took place in April, 1927, inaugurated by a former
president of the Republic, Etienne Alexandre Millerand. Before it
closed, all of the drawings had been sold, not to a French museum as
one might have expected, but to two charming young American col-
lectors whom I had recently met, Mr. and Mrs. Herbert N. Straus.
All the Straus brothers, of Macy fame, were collectors. Jesse, the
eldest, who later became Ambassador to France, and Percy, whose
beautiful collection is now the nucleus of the museum in Houston,
Texas, often visited Sagan during my father's lifetime. I did not meet
Herbert, the youngest, and his lovely wife, Therese, until one of my
early trips to New York after the war. Eugene Glaenzer took me to
call at their small but attractive Park Avenue house and I have sel-
dom seen a handsomer couple — he tall, slender and erect, she vivid,
alive, and carrying proudly a magnificent crown of burnished gold
hair. There began the friendships which are among my most treas-
ured possessions.
The purchase of the Quesnel portraits was an almost inevitable
acquisition in view of Herbert's passion for drawings, a feeling which
his wife shared, for there seemed to be between them a perfect com-
munion of thought and feeling. Always together, to what extent
Therese was responsible for the choices they made is a question I
shall not try to answer. When they purchased the idealized portrait of
Alexander the Great, a magnificent marble bas-relief of the Florentine
Renaissance, it was still an anonymous masterpiece without a story.
Later, it was identified as from the hand of Andrea Verrocchio and
has since been widely reproduced, but then it was only a moving and
virile sculpture which said, "Here I am in all my glory" — a message
which Therese and Herbert Straus understood.
205
MERCHANTS OF ART
For several years they had been working on a cherished project for
a new home, and they had gone into it with the whole-hearted en-
thusiasm of amateurs and the thoroughness of scholars. They had
learned enough about the intricacies of 18th century French archi-
tecture and decoration to shame a professional: the height of the
ceilings, the breadth of the windows and panels, the orientation of
the axes, the varieties of parquets. Either of them could have repro-
duced from memory the architectural style of Victor Louis of Bor-
deaux or the details of the Petit Trianon. But there was nothing pe-
dantic about their approach; it was all for sheer love of the beautiful,
and to love fully, one must understand. When one reaches a certain
degree of culture and maturity of intellect, one wants more than that
first sensuous reaction of eye or hand; though one trusts it, one needs
reason, too.
Most of the lovely things they were now acquiring were chosen
with this project in mind — furniture, rugs, screens, decorative bibe-
lots. I recall particularly a set of four exquisite Beauvais tapestries,
known as The Education or the Four Ages of Man, which were com-
missioned by Louis XVI in 1778 as a gift to Count Louis Bertier de
Sauvigny, Intendant of Paris, upon his marriage to Mademoiselle
Foullon. The original sketches for these charming family scenes were
probably made by Fragonard, although the cartoons for the actual
weaving were by Francois Casanova, artistic director at Beauvais.
They were executed only once, an uncommon circumstance in 18th
century tapestry weaving.
The site for the new Straus home, just opposite the entrance to the
Frick Library on 71st Street, had been acquired, the walls were up,
the floors completed, and the sumptuous boiseries which were to give
this home its exceptional atmosphere were about to be installed, when
Herbert Straus died. The dream house was never finished. Herbert
Straus' life was so short that the world, even the art world, had no
time to appraise him at his full stature. He was truly an exceptional
man. An excellent musician, versed in literature, a discriminating
collector, no branch of the fine arts was alien to him, for he reacted
spontaneously to them all; yet he was an energetic businessman and
an enlightened philanthropist. Herbert Straus was a man who pos-
sessed great spiritual as well as material gifts, and he used his good
fortune to the full. He always showed a real concern for the welfare
of his alma mater, Harvard, and, with his brothers, gave it the dormi-
206
The European Scene
tory known as Straus Hall. He was a generous patron of the Fogg
Museum, presenting, among other things, a rare early Chinese wall-
painting and an important painting by Degas, The Cotton Merchant.
Few people are aware that for many years he supplied the salary of
one of the museum's curators.
Therese Straus is no less an exceptional woman, one of the most
vitally alive human beings I have ever known. Her love of the beauti-
ful has increased with the years and, following her husband's gener-
osity, she continues to express her interest in the arts concretely. Soon
after Herbert's death, she offered to present the new house, complete
with the boiseries which were not yet installed, to the Metropolitan
Museum to be used as an annex devoted to French art. When this
appeared impractical because of maintenance problems, she instead
presented the five complete rooms to the museum. Two of them, a
salon from the Hotel de Tesse in Paris and a charming small round
boudoir from Bordeaux, were installed during the postwar rearrange-
ment of the museum.
For a number of years she served as a devoted and conscientious
member of the Visiting Committee of the Fogg Museum and in 1938
presented twenty drawings to that collection. I understand, too, that
Therese continued for some time the curator's salary. One of her most
beloved treasures, the marble bas-relief by Verrocchio, has been pre-
sented to the nation and hangs in the National Gallery in Washington.
The Herbert Strauses were perfectionists in everything they did —
and Therese is still so today — in their collecting, in their surround-
ings, above all in themselves, their manner of writing and speaking,
their instinct for what should or should not be done. This is a per-
fectionism that has nothing to do with form for form's sake, but which
springs naturally from ideals absorbed in youth and nurtured by
intelligence and sensitivity. Without sensitivity, perfectionism be-
comes a burden to self and a bore to others, something neither of the
Strauses could ever be.
207
CHAPTER XIX
If One Sells One Must Buy
T;
'here used to live in Paris, near the Place du Trocadero,
a most pleasant member of the diplomatic corps, M. Eu-
gene Pelletier, who was also an ardent collector of early panel paint-
ings, a rare predilection for a Parisian of his age and his time. He was
constantly on the lookout for new acquisitions of quality, but his
means were limited. In order to pay for a new acquisition, he would
often have to give others in part payment or sell one outright. On one
of these occasions, he invited me to call, which I did with pleasure.
Quite aside from the prospects of doing business, he was a delightful
conversationalist, and it was always a joy to see his truly lovely
paintings.
Pelletier showed me a painting he was about to purchase, a Cir-
cumcision by a French master of the 15th century, a most attractive
picture, in a good state of preservation and, in fact, it was one which
I would gladly have purchased myself. ( It has since gone to an Ameri-
can museum. ) He explained that he could only buy it if he sold some
drawings and paintings which he already owned, and asked me if I
could be tempted. I had no difficulty in selecting at once a fine
gouache of the school of Clouet representing King Henri II in full
length (now in a private collection in New York) . Then, walking over
to a wall near his bed where he kept his most precious possessions, I
pointed to a small, round, 16th century portrait which I thought I had
recognized as a Holbein. Somewhat hesitantly I asked if he would
consider parting with it. To my amazement, Pelletier replied, "Yes, I
would, but in all fairness I must warn you. It is not what you think.
Dr. Max Friedlander visited me a short time ago, and he does not
consider it a Holbein."
208
If One Sells One Must Buy
This was a blow to my pride of connoisseurship, but I did appreci-
ate indeed the gentleman's straightforwardness. Upon examining it
carefully in the daylight from the window, I realized that a heavy
varnish obscured some of the details and distorted the colors. Never-
theless, what was visible convinced me that if it were not by the
master, it was certainly from his period and by an excellent artist,
whoever he might be. So I told Pelletier that despite the negative
opinion of the great expert, the picture interested me, and I would
gladly buy it at a price in keeping with the circumstances. The deal
was concluded and I left with my two small paintings.
Once back in my office, I called my restorer who, in my presence,
removed the layers of grimy, yellow varnish. There gradually
emerged a perfectly preserved portrait against the typical Holbein
blue background. I was completely at a loss to understand the situa-
tion, and immediately wired Dr. Friedlander in Berlin for an appoint-
ment. If not by Holbein, who was the artist?
I handed the little portrait to Friedlander in his office at the Kaiser
Friederich Museum, explaining that I knew he had seen it before, but
since I now owned it, I wanted to hear about it from him personally.
For a few moments he examined it with great interest and then said,
that indeed, it did look like the real thing, but he did not recall ever
having seen it before. "What is the opinion I am supposed to have
given?" he queried.
Taken aback, I asked if I might delay the story until he had had
time to examine the picture more fully. He agreed amiably, and we
made an appointment for the next day. When I returned, the portrait
was on his table. Dr. Friedlander at once said that there was no doubt
in his mind; the painting was an original by Holbein. Further, he
would be quite willing to state this in writing on the back of a photo-
graph. Then I gave him the promised details about the source of the
painting and my acquisition of it. Dr. Friedlander recalled his visit to
Pelletier perfectly well, but he had no recollection of seeing the little
portrait. Undoubtedly the yellow varnish, the poor light in the bed-
room, and perhaps a preoccupied mind were responsible for this
lapse, one I am sure which must have been rare in his full life of
research and discovery. Then, with the humility of the truly learned,
Friedlander added, "But I'm not the expert on Holbein. You should
also consult Professor Ganz of Basel."
Ganz not only concurred in the opinion but confirmed the identity
209
MERCHANTS OF ART
of the sitter as Sir Henry Guildford. It is now in the Detroit Institute
of Arts.
Another trait of Dr. Friedlander which I found admirable, and all
too rare, was his willingness to recognize the abilities of his younger
assistants and his deference to their knowledge in their own fields of
specialization. I once took to him a well-known group of drawings
from the collections of the Princes of Anhalt-Dessau which had tra-
ditionally been labeled Holbein, but which obviously were not.
Friedlander immediately referred me to one of his aides who was
concentrating upon the circle of this great master, and it was thanks
to him that the drawings were later established as by Peter Gaertner.
In 1924, Max Friedlander had just finished his monumental corpus
of Flemish painting. When one considers how few corrections have
had to be made in his early classifications and attributions, despite
the quantity of documentation which has since come to light, one
appreciates indeed the quality of his judgment and the surgeon-like
precision of his working methods. Calm, lucid, with no rhetorical dis-
play of knowledge, he could seem almost cold when he examined a
work of art. Yet one knew with certainty that he had reacted to it at
once, and strongly. When the Hitler regime drove Friedlander from
Germany, he continued his studies in Holland and Switzerland. Until
his death in 1958 at well past ninety he was still actively writing and
pursuing his researches, beloved of all who were fortunate enough to
know him. I regret that my always over-charged life did not allow
me to enjoy more often the real stimulation which a visit to him
brought, but I am grateful for a number of delightful recollections.
Another important find of mine also involved a leading scholar,
Bernard Berenson. In an Austrian house I had seen an Italian 15th
century portrait of a man which struck me with great force. The
painting was not recorded in any of the books, the name of the col-
lector carried no weight — in fact, this was the only painting he owned
— and he wanted a high price for it. There was no one on the spot
whom I could consult. It was up to me to buy it, or leave it. Twice I
went to examine the painting, and between visits dreamed about it,
for it bore in every brush-stroke the hallmark of a great master. The
more I thought of it, the greater was my desire to own it and the more
convinced I was that my first impression was correct. The name that
had immediately come to my mind was Andrea Mantegna, the rare
and magnificent 15th century Paduan whose paintings in the Louvre
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If One Sells One Must Buy
and the Museum of Tours had captivated me from my early years. I
tried to tell myself that enthusiasm was clouding my judgment; to
discover a Mantegna was beyond the realm of possibility. I bought it.
The next step was to take it to Berenson, the only authority who
could decide whether I had been the victim of a too vivid imagina-
tion. Without hesitation and with considerable excitement, B. B.
pronounced it the work of the master, and one of the great discoveries
of our time. It added another portrait to the three or four already
recognized as unquestionably by Mantegna. It is now in the National
Gallery of Art in Washington as part of the Samuel H. Kress Col-
lection.
Moments like these are the really great thrills of our business: to
know that one can count upon one's knowledge and instinct, can
trust the euphoria created by the sight of a masterpiece. However,
neither conceit nor delusion of infallibility can be allowed to follow
them; for then objectivity flees. Fortunately, perhaps, such finds are
rare enough to keep one humble; for the most part the dealer must
rely upon hard work and research.
Despite newspaper stories and word-of-mouth legend, real dis-
coveries become rarer with every dawn. Today's public is generally
aware of what it owns and the time when a precious tapestry might
be found in a French cowshed or a Fragonard in an attic is long since
gone. But if one sells one must buy, and one of the most practical ways
of acquiring works of art is to buy a whole collection outright. It is
also the most difficult financially, for it requires the immediate outlay
of a considerable amount of capital. Ideally, a collection, to be a
worthwhile purchase, must have a number of really outstanding ob-
jects which will find an immediate sale and realize enough to cover
the lion's share of the price. There are advantages to the seller also
in such an arrangement, for he receives a large sum at once and avoids
the trouble of offering each item separately.
The competition between the art galleries and the art auctioneers
for whole collections is keen, however, and the dealer is usually the
loser. His estimate must be backed by a check, while the auctioneer
has no financial commitment, and if his estimate is too high, the over-
optimism will be shown only after the sale has taken place. We lost
the collection of the late Parisian expert, Marius Paulme, in just that
way in 1929. I was interested to come across my figures in the old
files not long ago. The Paulme collection was particularly rich in
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drawings, and in view of the increasing interest in this province of art,
my firm made a very high offer — ten million francs. Madame Paulme
turned it down. I went to eleven million, my last bid — another firm
had already given up — but the widow remained obdurate. "No," she
said, "an auction will bring much more, I have been assured of it."
An assurance, however, which committed the auctioneer to no finan-
cial responsibility. The entire collection went on the block in three
sales in May, 1929, and brought roughly 13,110,000 francs. After de-
ducting sales expenses, which must have amounted to more than the
usual percentage because of the extensive publicity, I am sure she
received less than I offered her. I heard that she was keenly disap-
pointed because she had anticipated something like twenty million
francs. My regrets were somewhat tempered by the sharp drop in
prices which came that fall with the beginning of the depression.
The collection of the late Philippe Wiener which we acquired in
Paris in 1928 was extraordinarily high in quality. It was a typically
Parisian collection, with all that implies of merit and limitation,
accumulated over a lifetime by a charming and cultivated man. The
beautiful rooms of Sagan made a fitting background for the paintings,
exquisite furniture, and bibelots. Opening day drew a brilliant audi-
ence, for the collection was well-known and was exactly the type to
attract such fastidious collectors as the Baron and Baroness Edouard
de Rothschild and David- Weill, whose collections already left little
to be desired in either quality or quantity, but who could always be
tempted by some delicately beautiful object. Henry Walters ac-
quired, among other things, two delightful Hubert Robert paintings,
he Portique and La Piece d'Eau; Percy Straus bought a rare small
bronze head attributed to Vittorio Ghiberti, now in the Houston
Museum; and George Blumenthal a charming gouache by one of the
18th century petits-maitres, Dugourc, as well as a fine Louis XV
screen of painted silk signed by Michel Gourdain. A number of pieces
of exceptional merit were bought by generous benefactors for the
Musee des Arts Decoratifs and for the Louvre. Within two weeks
the collection was virtually sold.
In this day of increasingly high general expenses, however, there
are few firms who are willing to tie up the capital demanded by an
outright purchase of a great collection. If it is a diversified one, with
a wide range of media, country, and period, there are also not many
dealers who are equipped, physically or by experience, to handle it
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If One Sells One Must Buy
in its entirety. Thus the dealer may act simply as selling agent for
all, or part, of a collection. Sometimes a collector, or his heirs, not
pressed for time or money, feel that a gradual dispersal will be more
advantageous than either an auction or a sale en bloc. In that case,
the only sound plan, from the viewpoint of both seller and dealer, is
to appoint a sole agent to act as representative of the owner under an
exclusive contract covering a specific period of time. Yet, it is amaz-
ing how many owners of works of art believe that they will obtain
better prices by opening the field to every dealer, broker, or inter-
mediary who wants a try at it. Actually, the only person to whom
this type of competition brings a better price is the ultimate pur-
chaser. When a painting, for instance, is offered to a potential buyer
at one figure by a dealer, and the next day an intermediary feels sure
he can obtain it at a lower price, the potential buyer is very apt to
sit back and wait for a third proposition. Meantime, the painting is
being offered hither and yon, and should this go on long enough, the
result is not only a lowering of price, but also a loss of prestige as the
reputation of the object becomes a little shopworn. I have heard many
a fine painting dismissed with a casual, "Oh, yes, it's been hanging
around the market for months now. Every dealer in town has offered
it to me."
An exclusive contract, on the other hand, assures the collector-seller
that his agent's interests are his own, for there is an agreed basis of
sales commission, and a fixed minimum of acceptable price on each
work to be offered. Thus the agent strives to obtain the best possible
figure for every item, since he also benefits, and the possibility of
conflict between the contracting parties is eliminated from the start.
Patently the prospective seller must choose his agent wisely. In the
case of trustees or executors of an estate, it is doubly important, for
the agent must be an expert who can evaluate the collection, advise
upon the best method of liquidating it, and then execute the plan. It
may seem at first blush that the evaluation of a collection should be
left to someone outside the business world of art, an art historian or a
scholar. But the scholar has little time to keep abreast of prices, or to
know the condition of markets, and is often a specialist in one par-
ticular area, with a limited grasp of others. Within the business art
world, too, there are specialists; one firm may be known for its modern
paintings and impressionists; another may be expert in Dutch 17th
century paintings; and another in classical objects. If the collection
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MERCHANTS OF ART
to be appraised and sold is a diversified one, encompassing all phases
of Western art, the field of choice is a restricted one.
Every such collection presents its own peculiar challenge. One of
the most interesting I ever handled, in view of its magnitude and the
problems involved, was the Clarence H. Mackay Collection. Clarence
H. Mackay, of cable and telegraph fortune, belonged to the second
generation of moguls, having inherited largely from his father, John
W. Mackay, a pioneer of the Montana and Nevada silver mining days.
But he collected with all the fervor and prodigality of his great
predecessors. He was for many years a Trustee of the Metropolitan
Museum and was always a generous patron of the arts, both with
his money and with loans from his collection. His estate at Roslyn,
with its beautiful grounds landscaped in the French manner by
Jacques Greber, was one of the loveliest on Long Island, and one of
the most hospitable, for he entertained lavishly and often. He had
been a good client of my father, and the firm's New York partner,
Eugene Glaenzer, had become one of Mackay 's close friends, going
frequently to Roslyn for weekends. While I never reached this degree
of intimacy, I often saw Mackay in the years before his death and
gained a firsthand acquaintance with his magnificent collection. His
Italian Renaissance and primitive paintings were of superlative qual-
ity; the sculptures and bronzes were equally fine; his Gothic tapestries
were famous; and his arms and armor collection was renowned for
its size and its beauty.
Soon after Mackay's death in November, 1938, it became apparent
that this once extremely wealthy man had been hard hit by the de-
pression. In addition, his resources were so tied up in financial opera-
tions that the only immediately available liquid assets were the real
estate at Roslyn and his collection. Mackay, himself, had sold several
important works of art and others were privately sold shortly after his
death — the celebrated series of paintings by Sassetta, the Mantegna,
the King Arthur tapestry, and a famous suit of armor — but the bal-
ance was still extremely valuable. Nevertheless, the trustees of the
estate, Frank L. Polk, a former Under Secretary of State, and his
associates, none of whom were collectors, found themselves faced
with several complex problems. It is unusual for works of art to con-
stitute so large a portion of a wealthy man's estate. It is still more
unusual for a collection to be so top-heavy with objects of a particu-
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If One Sells One Must Buy
larly difficult-to-sell type, purchased at the abnormally high prices
of the twenties. Now, in the late thirties, the once popular and ex-
pensive Renaissance and 18th century decorative arts, the tapestries,
the arms and armor had lost their appeal to the buying public.
My firm had acted as advisor and agent for the dispersal of part
of the lovely Mortimer L. Schiff collection, and it was in part due to
John M. Schiff's recommendation that the Trustees of the Mackay
estate asked me to act for them. My role was to be a dual one; to sell,
of course, but mainly and immediately, to advise on a procedure
which would be the most advantageous to the estate. To complicate
matters, only certain categories of objects had been catalogued. The
vast collection of arms and armor, the hundreds of lesser items of a
decorative character, and quantities of fine furniture and hangings
were not even on an inventory list. It was not the first time that I had
been struck by this singular lack of order on the part of businessmen
collectors who must certainly have had method and precision in their
commercial dealings.
My first task, then, was to familiarize myself with the contents of
the huge Roslyn house. Before committing them to paper, I had to
try to classify the items in my mind so that I could suggest an over-all
plan flexible enough to be modified or enlarged as circumstances
might dictate. I felt an urgency, because I was convinced, despite
disagreement from Mr. Polk, who made light of my pessimism, that
war was inevitable. It seemed imperative to me to take advantage of
the European market to dispose of the objects for which the United
States demand was limited. I had also heard that the Nazis, especially
Goering and Hitler, were buying heavily of arms and armor.
Not only was there a prodigious number of these items, but the
lack of a proper inventory meant that we had no information about
previous collections, names of makers, country or date of origin.
Armor is a very special study, and while training and experience en-
abled me to recognize easily the quality and relative merit of one
item as compared with another, I am no expert. I made this clear to
Mr. Polk at the beginning, but he assured me that no better man had
been suggested and I would just have to go ahead as best I could.
Fortunately, we were able to enlist the invaluable assistance of
Stephen S. Grancsay, Curator of Arms and Armor at the Metroplitan,
and New York's most astute amateur, Otto von Kienbusch. I cannot
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MERCHANTS OF ART
recall ever having had more willing collaborators, and I am happy to
have this opportunity to express again my personal thanks for their
time and patience.
The big question was how much to put up at auction and how much
to reserve for private sale. An auction has certain advantages in the
liquidation of an estate, in that the prices attained are accepted at law
as final and indisputable valuations. But an auction is not always the
best way to dispose of exceptional and high-priced works of art.
There is a risk even in fixing the date of an auction; for any unfore-
seeable reason, political, social, or even personal, that date may turn
out to be exactly the wrong one. It is both expensive and bad psy-
chology to postpone an announced sale, and if the handful of leading
collectors and museum representatives are not present, the expensive
works of art may sell far below their estimated valuations. Further-
more, an auction allows no way to feel out public reactions and to
adjust estimates on objects for which there is no recent basis of
pricing.
My recommendations, then, were to hold an immediate auction in
London of arms and armor, thus trimming down the collection to a
certain degree, follow up with a sale of the lesser items in New York,
and reserve the capital pieces for private sale. The Trustees were
favorably disposed toward the London auction, and it was duly held.
But they rejected the idea of a New York public sale, even of the lesser
objects. In view of the great number of these and the necessity to
vacate the Roslyn house, it was fortunate that my firm was still occu-
pying the house at 3 East 51st Street where many of them could be
stored and where the more important items could be properly shown.
Meanwhile, negotiations were going forward with museums, foun-
dations, and collectors for the sale of the major pieces. There is in
our business, as I presume there is in others, an understanding that
preferential treatment, a first view, is offered to regular clients of a
firm. The choice items in a collection are often sold before the doors
are opened to the public, and may never even be exhibited at all.
Thus, the 11th century German baptismal font and Germain Pilon's
bronze fountain went to the Boston Museum of Fine Arts; the Cleve-
land Museum acquired the two marble Pleurants from the tombs of
the Dukes of Burgundy; and the Samuel H. Kress Foundation carried
off the rare Madonna and Child of Verrocchio. The Metropolitan
Museum added to their already considerable list the superb 15th
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If One Sells One Must Buy
century Hector tapestry, the exquisite 14th century staghorn saddle
from the collection of Prince Trivulzio of Milan, and a famous suit of
armor made for Henri II of France.
During the months that my firm handled the collection, nearly one
hundred full suits of armor and uncounted miscellaneous weapons
and accoutrements were sold. All in all, when I relinquished my
duties with the estate, the total of sales was approaching the million
dollar mark. It is perhaps a small figure compared to the total of the
prices originally paid, but a satisfactory one considering that chang-
ing taste had had its effect on the American market for many of the
items and that the European markets were closed to us before the
end of 1939.
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CHAPTER XX
The Rise of the American Museum
An art dealer derives a singular satisfaction from seeing his
Hv objects placed in a museum, for this constitutes an offi-
cial recognition, so to speak, of his knowledge and taste. With most
dealers, museums and public institutions enjoy a measure of priority,
even though special terms are often necessary and the transaction is
rarely as profitable as a private sale. Perhaps this is short-sighted —
after all, an art dealer is not a philanthropist; why not sell to the
highest bidder? True enough, but that leaves out certain very
human considerations.
Consider the older museums of Europe with their immensity of
riches — the collections of the Louvre or the National Gallery of Lon-
don. It is a challenge to find another painting or sculpture of fitting
quality and condition to grace these halls. Once acquired, the object
must then run the gauntlet of a team of curators and museum officials
who are experts in their fields. Because they are public or quasi-public
officials, they are open to criticism from public and press alike if they
make a mistake. Once the object meets the aesthetic standards, it
must then be considered in the light of the always limited budgets,
which means it is carefully weighed in relation to the whole collection
before being recommended. If at last a work of art passes all these
obstacles, the dealer feels an unequaled satisfaction in seeing his
treasure hung on the walls of the museum for the public to admire.
Thus in London when I see in the National Gallery "my" great
Ingres Portrait of Madame Moitessier and "my" Philippe de Cham-
paigne Vision of Saint Joseph, or at the Courtauld Institute the
stunning Jane Avril of Toulouse-Lautrec; when I visit the Musee
Royal in Brussels and find once again the big 15th century panel of
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The Rise of the American Museum
the Saint Barbara Legend; or pause in the Louvre before the impres-
sive unfinished portrait of Bonaparte by J. L. David or the recently
discovered, monumental Simon Vouet, there comes a special thrill
which has nothing to do with price or profit.
In the United States, the years between the two world wars wit-
nessed the rise of the American museum as a new and formidable
buying power in the art market. If, occasionally, the art dealer is
nostalgic for the days of the millionaire private collector who could,
and did, buy any rare item which took his fancy, regardless of price
and without lengthy consultations with experts and trustees, those
moments are quickly forgotten in his pride and pleasure in the role
he has played in the enrichment of American museums. Their aston-
ishing growth, in both size and number, in the last forty years is
a phenomenon unique in the world and in history; unique because
it has come about almost entirely through the generosity of private
citizens. If Jacques Seligmann could repeat today the circuit of the
eastern half of the United States which we made in 1913, he would
find the storerooms of the "empty shells" about which he complained
crowded with works of art for which they have no exhibition space.
Just for contrast, let us look at the first important purchase made
by the Metropolitan Museum in its beginning year of 1871, inci-
dentally a transaction which has proved well worth the efforts it took.
John Taylor Johnston, its President, and William Tilden Blodgett,
Vice-President, had heard of a group of excellent paintings available
for purchase. So determined were they to have them that, no funds
being available, Blodgett gave his personal guarantee for a bank loan
of a hundred thousand dollars to hold the paintings until they could
pass the hat. The list of donors is impressive. In addition to Blodgett
and Johnston, a banker and railroad magnate, there was Rutherfurd
Stuyvesant, F. W. Rhinelander, A. T. Stewart, Lucius Tuckerman,
John Jacob Astor, and Theodore Roosevelt. With the possible ex-
ception of Stewart, who had just paid an exorbitant price for a huge
canvas by Meissonnier, Friedland 1807, none of these men could be
considered a collector. They were simply conscientious citizens dis-
charging a civic duty. Since then, successive generations of public-
minded citizens have continued to discharge their duties toward the
aesthetic needs of New York and the country with overwhelming
largess. To enumerate the gifts and bequests which have come to the
Metropolitan since that time would require a chapter — the Harkness,
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MERCHANTS OF ART
Havemeyer, Altman, Morgan, Friedsam, Bache, Wentworth, and
Blumenthal collections; spectacular items from the Vanderbilts,
Whitneys, Kresses, Mrs. Herbert N. Straus; the endowment funds,
the Fletcher, Munsey, Harkness, Baker, Hearn, and, capping them
all, the stupendous gift of John D. Rockefeller, Jr., which made possi-
ble the building and installing of the Cloisters. It is breathtaking
when one realizes that almost all of this has happened within the
last four decades.
A vast majority of the great collections amassed in the opening
decades of the century are now in public museums. One of the most
recent is the Walter Arensberg Collection of contemporary art, pre-
sented to the Philadelphia Museum, and that museum is, in fact, a
good case in point. It has benefited to an astonishing degree from
bequests. The basis of Philadelphia's permanent collection was laid
by the gift of the famous John G. Johnson Collection which, not so
many years ago, still hung in the small, dark house where I called
with my father on my first visit to the United States. Then followed
the McFadden, the Wilstach, the Hamilton Rice, the Stotesbury
Collections and, in the contemporary field, the A. E. Gallatin paint-
ings. Not only must the value of all this go far beyond the amounts
spent by the museum for independent purchases, but how could one
today even attempt to put a value in dollars on the Johnson Collec-
tion? Many of its masterpieces are unique examples, not to be found
elsewhere.
Boston, Philadelphia, Chicago, and St. Louis have all been recipi-
ents of collections or endowments, but like New York, they are older
cities whose museums go back many years. More exciting as social
phenomena are the newer museums in the younger cities which, if
less rich in inherited private collections, have been freer, for this very
reason, to develop along less traditional lines. The Cleveland Mu-
seum, for instance, which opened its doors in 1916, has a character all
its own in the supreme quality of its acquisitions. In less than fifty
years it has taken its place among the great museums of the world.
This brilliant record is the result of a sound initial policy, consistently
applied, thanks to the presence for many years of a highly learned and
cultivated man, William M. Milliken, as director, and to trustees who
not only understood their responsibilities, but were willing to follow
the advice of the director and his able assistants in expending the
income of the museum's endowments. Moreover, the city of Cleve-
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The Rise of the American Museum
land has concurrently produced a number of collectors who have
helped to create and encourage public appreciation by supporting
and lending to exhibitions, and who have enriched the museum by
bequests and gifts. It is not just coincidence, however, that the beauti-
ful collections left to the museum in recent years — the Prentiss,
Severance, Rogers, and Hanna — complement each other and supple-
ment the holdings of the museum so happily. It is the result of an
effective working agreement between the citizens of Cleveland, the
museum staff, and the Board of Trustees.
The art of being a museum trustee is rather special. I do not know
anyone who understood it better than Leonard C. Hanna, Jr., of
Cleveland. He gave the museum forty-four years of lively and per-
sonal interest as well as endowments of almost unprecedented gener-
osity. When he became a member of the Advisory Council of the still-
unopened museum, he was not himself a collector. Even in 1920,
when he became a trustee and a member of the Accession Com-
mittee, his interest in art per se was still an academic one. When I
first met Len Hanna, some thirty-odd years ago, he had but one pic-
ture on the walls of his New York apartment. As I recall, it was a large
white flower by Georgia O'Keeffe, graceful and delicate in its sweep
of line, and striking in its decorative elegance. There are depths in
this artist's paintings which go beyond the merely decorative; the
sensuous curves, the rich almost monochromatic tonalities, seem to
have a mysterious life and inner pulsation which can be translated
into the actual movement of an unfolding petal. There was a parallel
between this canvas and the man who owned it, for Len Hanna, too,
did not reveal himself easily.
He was charming of manner and cordial in his approach, fastidious
in his dress and about the appointments of his home. In casual con-
versation he appeared to be a man whose interests were limited to
the pleasanter aspects of life — art, literature, the theater, and music.
He did derive great pleasure from these, but Len Hanna was no
grand seigneur of leisure. Heir to one of the great industrial empires
of the Middle West, with headquarters in his native Cleveland, he
took an active part in its affairs and all the time-consuming responsi-
bilities it entailed. Even here, however, one never found him in the
spotlight or in the press; that he left to others. Like many another son
of wealth, he undoubtedly found it necessary over the years to build
up a certain defense, for he was by nature generous and sympathetic,
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MERCHANTS OF ART
but his reserve only dissolved in the intimacy of a small chosen com-
pany. Just as reserved was he in his role of Maecenas — a name which
he would have been the last to apply to himself. I feel sure that in set-
ting up the fabulous Hanna Fund, for many years one of the main
sources of revenue of the Cleveland Museum, he would have pre-
ferred to disguise the trust under some anonymous title, except that
he also wished to honor the past generations of his illustrious family,
particularly his mother, by this memorial.
When Len purchased his first painting, I feel sure that he had no
real thought of becoming a collector. But once begun, like many an-
other before him, he found collecting had become a vital part of his
life and he devoted hours of time and study to it. He also had a nature
to which works of art were a necessary nutriment, to be enjoyed in-
tuitively as well as intellectually. As a Trustee of the Museum, how-
ever, he believed that his proper function was simply to pass on and
endorse the choices proposed by the two remarkably talented men of
his staff, William Milliken and Henry S. Francis, and quite correctly
so. Nevertheless, I know that certain acquisitions were initiated be-
cause he had the taste and the knowledge to recognize the value to
the museum of objects which the executive staff had not yet had an
opportunity to see.
Hanna's lavish gestures toward the Cleveland Museum reflected
not only his civic pride and his love for his native city, but also his
own passionate interest in works of art. As his exquisite collection
grew, he was often at a loss to know where to place a new treasure. I
was more than once reminded of Henry Walters when Hanna bought
another beautiful object; I was never certain whether he was moti-
vated by his personal desire or the needs of the museum.
The development of Len Hanna's taste was swift, and followed an
exceptional course. Hardly was he started in one direction when his
eclecticism drew him in another, but never in a current vogue. If he
had a favorite school or period, it was probably the Impressionists and
Post-Impressionists. Yet, his early appreciation of Picasso, for the be-
ginner that he then was, constituted an unusual step into the uncon-
ventional, and he developed an interest in Degas and Gothic marble
sculpture at almost the same time. Collectors willing and eager in so
short a time to cross the intellectual boundaries of period and aes-
thetic expression, gathering the best and enjoying their very diversity,
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The Rise of the American Museum
are exceedingly rare. Hanna's searching mind and his response to
tactile beauty were bound to lead him into constantly wider horizons.
The Toledo Museum, supported mainly by the bequest of Edward
Drummond Libbey, opened its doors in 1911. Since then it has had
to enlarge its building twice, in 1925 and again in 1933. The Minne-
apolis Museum, under the leadership of such cultured citizens as the
John R. Vanderlips and Alfred F. Pillsbury, inaugurated its museum
building in 1915 and added to it in 1927. The Detroit Institute of
Arts was chartered as a municipal project in 1918 but owes its present
beautiful building, opened in 1927, more to private funds than to
municipal taxation. Here, too, the personalities of its directors, the
late Dr. William R. Valentiner and Edgar P. Richardson, were influ-
encing factors in the growth of private collections destined to aug-
ment and enrich the museum.
This special role of the museum director is certainly one of his most
important. His task should not be confined to the direct development
of the collection in his charge; he should strive to group about the
institution interested citizens susceptible of being stirred to collect
for their own pleasure, and subtly guide them toward purchases
which may some day serve the needs of the museum. The position has
been reversed: yesterday, the collector made the museum; today, the
museum must make the collector.
Wilhelm von Bode, director of the Kaiser Friedrich Museum for
many years, understood this role to perfection. He is said to have
told James Simon, who indicated his intention of leaving his collec-
tion to the museum, that he must buy a certain painting just submit-
ted by a dealer.
"But I don't like it," Mr. Simon protested, "and I don't want it in
my collection."
"That is not the question," replied Bode. "The museum needs it;
we cannot let it go, and we cannot afford to buy it. Meanwhile you
might just as well have it and you'll probably learn to like it."
Simon is alleged to have bought it. No one knows whether he ever
learned to like it.
I once saw Bode in action as he spun a Machiavellian plot to play
collector against dealer and enrich the museum from both. I had
gone to Berlin to purchase several paintings and decided to take two
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MERCHANTS OF ART
portraits to Bode for his opinion, as one of them had been attributed
by one critic to Scorel and by another to Mabuse. He knew the paint-
ing well and considered it definitely by Scorel. He was so taken with
it that he immediately told me he would like a collector friend to
purchase it, for it would be a noteworthy eventual addition to the
museum.
"If he buys the Scorel," Bode said, "I think you should present the
smaller portrait to the Kaiser Friedrich!"
I was not averse to the proposition, since the smaller portrait, al-
though by Cranach, was not of considerable value. However, Bode's
plan did not work, as the prospective buyer was out of town for
several weeks, and I was reluctant to be separated for so long a time
from my most recent important purchase without greater certainty of
a sale. Nevertheless, Bode's principle is a good one, although it might
be exercised in a more subtle and elegant manner.
During the second quarter of the 20th century, American museums
have continued to multiply in Oklahoma, Texas, Colorado, Washing-
ton, Oregon, and California. In Kansas City, Missouri, a single be-
quest made possible the almost magical inauguration in 1933 of a
magnificent building and a collection of considerable merit, neither
of which existed five years earlier. William Rockhill Nelson, the dy-
namic Kansas City newspaper publisher, belonged to the same breed
and generation of pioneering businessmen as the big collectors of my
father's day, but he started too late to form a personal art gallery
worthy of the city to which he was so devoted. Instead, he chose to
endow it with the fortune he had amassed, and today the collections
of the William Rockhill Nelson Gallery vie in quality with those of
cities twice Kansas City's size and museums twice as old. No other
country would be capable of such a tour de force.
The fabulous National Gallery in Washington was not yet even a
dream in my father's time, and Andrew Mellon had scarcely begun
to collect. If the patrons of American culture have been popularly
accused of inordinate pride in wishing to perpetuate their names
upon the facades of public institutions, here was one to refute the
charge. Andrew Mellon specifically directed that the handsome mar-
ble structure he gave to the nation should be known simply as the
National Gallery of Art in order, as he wrote, that it might "attract
gifts from other citizens who may in the future desire to contribute
works of art . . . to form a great national collection." Mellon himself
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The Rise of the American Museum
set the criterion for those future donors in the hundred and fifty or
more paintings and sculptures which he had so carefully chosen over
the years. His hopes have been amply fulfilled. Before the museum
building was completed, Samuel H. Kress had presented the greater
part of his collection of several hundred Italian paintings. Within a
year after its opening in 1939, Joseph E. Widener had added the truly
princely collection which his father had started and he had perfected.
Andrew Mellon's dream of establishing in Washington a national
gallery comparable to its European prototypes was well on its way
to realization.
The Widener Collection was started by Peter A. B. Widener, and
it was presented to the nation in his memory, but it was the son,
Joseph, who played the active role in its development and improve-
ment. He gradually eliminated paintings he considered less worthy
and added others, the great Van Dycks, the Grecos, the exquisite
Mantegna, the powerful Castagno. He had a keen sense of quality
and an eclectic taste; thus he was capable of acquiring old masters
with one hand and, with the other, the Dead Toreador of Manet or
the small but exquisite Race Course of Degas. The Degas must also
have had appeal because of its subject, since Widener's stables were
as well known as his collection, although not always to the same peo-
ple. I learned of this side of his life only through a chance mention
of the Widener collection to a horse-fancying friend, who in turn
knew nothing of his art interests. We were each equally shocked at
the other's abysmal ignorance.
Joseph Widener was an exceptional man and I always regretted
that I knew him so late in his collecting career. He had made several
important acquisitions from my father, among them the previously
mentioned Houdon busts of the Brongniard children, and I had called
on him with my father in 1913. But when I settled down in New York
more than ten years later, his collection, except for a few spectacular
paintings, was already complete. He was a difficult man to approach
and his outward attitude of aloofness, quasi-indifference, always
made me feel that I should be as brief as possible lest he grow bored.
I was wrong. Once the ice was broken, he could be extremely affable,
and he was amazingly well-informed on affairs in the art world. On
one occasion I made an appointment to meet him at his office in
Philadelphia and motor with him to Elkins Park for luncheon. In the
car, he told me of unexpected visitors at the house; hence the drive
225
MERCHANTS OF ART
out would be our only chance to talk privately. Did I have anything
to show him? I brought out certain catalogues and photographs of
items which I believed might interest him, and which I also thought
would be news. Not so. As soon as the collection from which they
came was mentioned, he interrupted me to say that he had already
heard about them but the prices were out of line. What did I think
they could be bought for? My figures were evidently the same as
those he had been quoted, and so the matter was dropped. With
every visit Widener later made to my gallery, I sensed a closer rela-
tionship, but by that time it was extremely difficult to find anything
to tempt a collector of his caliber, and the only purchase he ever
made from me was a superb Louis XVI table, attributed to Riesener.
I first met Samuel H. Kress, who personally and through the Foun-
dation which bears his name has so enriched the National Gallery,
toward the end of 1924 when he purchased from me two small 16th
century enamels and a little French 18th century table. I feel sure
that then he had no thought of forming a great art foundation. Many
of America's great philanthropic funds have contributed to the ad-
vancement of artists and of museums, but the Samuel H. Kress Foun-
dation is unique. It buys works of art solely for the purpose of giving
them away. The National Gallery in Washington has always, since
the initial gift in 1939, been its first concern, but in addition, the
Foundation has been of invaluable assistance in rounding out the
existing collections of some twenty other institutions. In some cases
it has actually served as the impetus for the creation of a museum
where none existed.
If the primary purpose of an art museum is to preserve the beauty
of the past for the inspiration of artists and the spiritual pleasure of
the sensitive layman, it has a corollary function in education. A
child's earliest conceptions are often founded on familiar paintings
or reproductions. Mention of George Washington immediately calls
up an image of the statesman of Stuart, the soldier of Peale, or the
valiant figure standing perilously in a small boat on the Delaware.
The pioneering west is graven on the mind's eye by Custer's Last
Stand. The Napoleonic era is summed up by David's Coronation. For
the adult, as well as the child, the walls of a museum offer a never
exhausted source of material for a study of the humanities and social
evolution. Representational art has had perhaps its most far-reaching
influence in the area of the world's religions. Those of us fortunate
226
The Rise of the American Museum
enough to have had early access to an art museum learned there the
stories of the Old and New Testaments as surely as from Sunday-
school teaching or Bible reading. Great art scholars are often better
versed in hagiography, iconology, the symbolism of early Christian-
ity, and the problems of comparative religion than many a church-
man. The Roman Catholic Church has been for many centuries aware
of the proselytizing value of works of art and the emotional effect of
sacred paintings and sculptures set in an environment of stained glass
and incense.
These spiritual and didactic values may have played a considerable
role in the formative stages of the projects of the brothers Samuel H.
and Rush H. Kress. Both had a fundamentally religious background,
not in any narrow sense of ritual and dogma, but in the wider concept
which distinguishes good from bad, right from wrong, for love of one's
fellow men rather than from fear of eternal damnation. The gradual
evolution of the aesthetic interests of the two men has been a fascinat-
ing one; the longing for beauty in its timid beginnings; the conflicting
scepticism of businessmen who have come up the long, hard way;
their entrance into a rarefied atmosphere where they believed mer-
chandising methods could be applied; and a final realization that
their progress was blocked by these methods.
Many men would have been so disillusioned as to give up at this
point, but not the brothers Kress; temporary reverses were not new
in their lives. They simply started anew, opened their buying opera-
tions to competition, and welcomed criticism, in a reaffirmation of
their determination to secure the finest examples of man's artistic
achievement. New methods of acquisition and of ultimate distribu-
tion were worked out and the Foundation was reorganized into a
comprehensive and efficient organization.
Rush, the younger of the two Kress brothers, succeeded to the
duties of the presidency during the long illness of Samuel. If, as head
of the Foundation, he has made the more important and final de-
cisions, he has been actively seconded in the executive field by two
exceptional men, the late Dr. Herbert L. Spencer and Guy Emerson.
The latter is in charge of the operations involved in the purchase and
distribution of the works of art.
Guy Emerson is by training a banker and by avocation an ornitholo-
gist. But it is obvious that his wide cultural background, his innate
refinement, and his sense of delicate values have developed in him a
227
MERCHANTS OF ART
very sound art judgment. Nevertheless, he maintains an attitude of
complete aloofness toward the final purchase, leaving the expression
of artistic opinion and ultimate recommendation to his able technical
advisors, John Walker, director of the National Gallery of Art in
Washington, Mario Modestini, connoisseur and technician, whose
province includes the scientific art laboratory, and until recently, the
late noted art historian Dr. William Suida.
In the early years of the Kress Foundation, definite stress was laid
on the primitive schools of Italy, and for quite a number of years the
collection was restricted to this field. However, as the Kress's own
interests broadened, so did the collection. French paintings of all
periods up to the Davidian reaction (but including Ingres) were
added, as were German paintings, but since little of merit was created
there after the 16th century, they offer a limited scope. The addition
of the Spanish school opened a whole new vista, particularly in the
early years when the problems of Flemish and Portuguese influence
are still too obscure to delineate definite boundaries. More unusual,
a superb collection of sculpture was gradually built, particularly
among the great creations of France and Italy.
Obviously, the broad museum and scholarly background of Dr.
Suida was of inestimable value in the execution of this program. He
was for many years Director of the Museum at Gratz, Austria, and a
member of the faculty of the University of Gratz. Earlier in his career
he had held posts both at Vienna University and in the German Insti-
tute for Italian Studies in Florence. Though no school or period left
him indifferent and he reacted instantly to the qualities inherent in
each, Italian art was his first love. Within that broad field, it was the
seicento which captured his special attention. He was one of the first
to appreciate the interest of this still little explored area, and his
studies of its varying influences, from Naples to Bologna and Genoa,
are of supreme importance. Dr. Suida had a fantastic memory for
the involved details of Italian history — a particularly valuable talent
for an art historian working in seicento studies, a period when aes-
thetic development is strongly marked by political and social events.
During the early days of my own career in Paris, Dr. Suida came
from time to time to see my father at Sagan, but I only came to know
him well as my interest in paintings developed and I had occasion to
consult him either at his museum or on his trips to Paris. He was an
unfailing source of perceptive knowledge. One of the few good things
228
The Rise of the American Museum
which came out of the miseries of World War II was that it brought
such men to our American museums and universities. In these past
years I never ceased to marvel at the inexhaustible capacity for work
of this frail, scholarly man of almost eighty, who not only performed
exacting duties as advisor to the Kress Foundation, but made lengthy
annual pilgrimages to a dozen European countries, found time to
pursue his own researches in an ever widening area and to publish
them.
229
CHAPTER XXI
The Second World War
i
"n Paris, a few years before the outbreak of the second
world war, we began reluctantly to think of selling the
Palais de Sagan, which was still a part of my father's estate. It was
not an easy decision to make, because Sagan held associations dear
to all of us. But there were many practical considerations to urge it.
The building was huge, and with the prevailing trends in collecting,
the firm had less and less need for so lavish and expensive an estab-
lishment; the quarters on rue de la Paix were sufficiently spacious.
Europe was exceedingly uneasy politically, as well as economically,
and it seemed wise to take steps with an eye to the future. We had
made no real efforts toward selling, though we had been approached
by several of the foreign embassies in Paris — Sagan was admirably
suited, and situated, for embassy purposes — when one day the de-
cision was practically made for us by the City of Paris.
The great Paris Exposition of 1937 was well beyond the planning
stage. The handsome modem buildings which replaced the old
Trocadero and the two large exhibition halls on the avenue du
President Wilson, one the Museum of Modern Art, were actually
under construction. Other land was being cleared for the grounds
and the gardens of the fair. Among the older buildings which occu-
pied some of the needed ground was the Polish Embassy which, ob-
viously, could not simply be condemned in the usual manner. To
induce the Poles to move, in principle not difficult as their building
was too small and not particularly elegant, the City of Paris offered
an even trade of a more suitable house. Somewhat to the dismay of
the city fathers, the Poles chose the Palais de Sagan, a rather grander
gesture than the City of Paris had been prepared to make. The Poles
230
The Second World War
insisted that it was Sagan or nothing, until the city gave in, and it
looked as though the deal was all set. There then intervened a contre-
temps which threatened to break off negotiations but which afforded
the only light touch to the passing of Sagan from Seligmann hands.
The problem was solved through a masterpiece of French wit and
diplomatic ingenuity.
The difficulty lay in a short, narrow driveway, just wide enough
for a single vehicle, which went from the entrance on the rue St.
Dominique back to the main courtyard of Sagan. The land on either
side of the passageway had long since been built up with houses
which faced upon the street and which, in the 18th century, had been
granted "right of light and sight" in perpetuity upon this narrow strip
of the grounds of Sagan. There was the catch; the Polish Ambassador
did not see how he could allow the neighbors to trespass upon the
sanctity of Polish territory. Impasse. French law was French law. The
architect for the City of Paris finally resolved the dilemma. He sug-
gested that the city retain the passageway, nationalize it, and grant
the Poles right of access to their courtyard. In short, he created a new
"Polish corridor." The Poles were happy, the city officials were happy,
and the firm of Seligmann moved out of the Palais de Sagan, to estab-
lish headquarters at 9 rue de la Paix.
Shortly after this I took another step which I had contemplated for
some time; I made the New York office my personal headquarters and
the United States my legal residence. My young half-brother, Fran-
cois-Gerard, had finished his military service and had already taken
his place in the Paris firm. I had fewer obligations in Europe, and I
now felt free to establish myself in the country which had so long
been my real home. It was in no sense, however, a severing of the
two firms, and I continued to commute between Paris and New York
until the summer of 1939.
That was the summer of the New York World's Fair. The art sec-
tion, covering European painting from 1300 to 1800, was one of its
outstanding achievements. Directed by Dr. William R. Valentiner, it
was particularly rich in the so-called primitive periods and the Dutch
17th century, with important loans of such precious and seldom-seen
paintings as the Ince Hall Madonna of Van Eyck, lent by the National
Gallery of Australia in Melbourne. The Marquis de Cuevas was
largely responsible for the financing of the art building, and when
despite the menace of a new European war, it was decided to con-
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MERCHANTS OF ART
tinue the fair for another year, he generously agreed to guarantee the
very considerable additional expense. But he made certain conditions
— he was to approve, first, the membership of the organizing com-
mittee and, second, the works of art exhibited, specifying further that
a large place be reserved for Spanish paintings.
The new exhibition was planned to begin with the High Renais-
sance in Italy and extend through the 19th century, including Ameri-
can paintings. Dr. A. Hamilton Rice and Walter Pach headed the
committee, and among its members were Charles Henschel, Presi-
dent of Knoedler & Company, and Hans Waegen, formerly of my
own organization. I had been a member of the Honorary Committee
of 1939, and when the Marquis asked that I take a more active part
in the new one, I was happy to agree. But I, in turn, stipulated for the
inclusion of French works of certain epochs and by certain artists
who were little known in the United States and unjustly neglected.
Thus the planning of the French section was largely accorded to me.
I had several aims. The art of 18th century France was a favorite
with American collectors at the beginning of the century, but it had
undergone a marked decline among the younger generation, due to a
total misconception of what it really represented. Dismissed as
"rococo," a term against which French art historians do battle and
which properly applies only to the pastiches created outside France,
the French 18th century was popularly regarded as a frivolous art
of the boudoir. The Chateau of Versailles and the Grand Trianon —
even the Petit Trianon, so precious yet so pure in form — certainly do
not lend themselves to frivolity or give an impression of boudoir. As
light as may have been the private lives of certain monarchs, the
etiquette of the Court imposed a very strict discipline. For the fair,
then, it seemed important to try to overcome this misunderstanding
by exhibiting the more austere side of the French 18th century — its
elegance, proportion, and restrained dignity. To this end special em-
phasis was laid upon the great portraits which personify the civiliza-
tion that was the envy of all Europe.
Little had been seen here, too, of the French 17th century, and
even among the great 19th century masters certain key figures were
still too little known and appreciated. I therefore submitted to the
French Ambassador a list of capital paintings in the Louvre and
provincial museums which seemed to me necessary if we were to
make an ideal exhibition, the Watteaus of the Louvre, for instance,
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The Second World War
and at least one monumental canvas of Delacroix, Liberte sur les
Barricades or the Massacres at Scio, for canvases of this caliber just
do not exist in American collections. Courbet, on the other hand, and
to a certain extent Seurat and Redon, still in 1939 not widely known,
could be more or less adequately represented here.
Grover Whalen, director general of the fair, was struck by the
publicity value of important loans from the museums of France in
those uncertain days of the summer of 1939 and conceived the idea
of asking for an American battleship to take delivery of them. But
events were moving too fast for us. The second world war descended
before the arrangements could be completed, and France had more
pressing matters on hand than aid to the World's Fair Committee of
New York. The war also ended any hope of securing other European
loans; that we succeeded in getting together a representative en-
semble, including a Spanish section to meet the approval of the
Marquis de Cuevas, speaks for the richness of American collections.
The fair reopened in May of 1940, one day after the Nazis overran
Belgium and the Netherlands. The so-called phony war of the winter
of 1939-1940 had now become all too real.
France, of course, had been at war since September, and my young
brother, Francois-Gerard, was called up immediately. He made the
weary trek to Dunkirk and then joined the Resistance, where he made
a brilliant record in extremely dangerous work. By some miracle, my
sisters and their families escaped the awful fates of so many Jews,
though they lived through terrible years of wandering and hiding.
My brother Andre managed to get to this country with his family in
1940 and opened a gallery in New York. He was among the first to
rush back to France in 1945 but died of a heart attack soon after his
homecoming. My cousin Rene, ill in a New York hospital, completely
lost his will to live when France fell in June, 1940, and died within a
week of that most awful of days. Jean Seligmann, son of my Uncle
Arnold, was captured and shot at Vincennes. Albert Meyer, my fa-
ther's and my longtime associate in the Paris firm, died in a concentra-
tion camp under atrocious conditions.
Almost the entire stock of the Paris firm was confiscated as Jewish
property and sold at public auction by order of the Vichy government.
The family house on the rue de Constantine and its entire contents
suffered the same fate, as did my private collection, much of which
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MERCHANTS OF ART
was still in my Paris apartment. At this time, the Paris records were
burned to keep them from falling into Nazi hands.
There was distressingly little that I could do to help here in New
York. Though I was no longer of age to be called to the French army
there was still the possibility that the American army might find me of
use when the United States got into the conflict, as seemed to me
inevitable. Encouraged by several of my old comrades of the First
Division, many of whom occupied high ranks in Washington, I ap-
plied for a post to which my knowledge of the two countries would
have particularly fitted me. Unfortunately, age was against me and I
had to content myself with what all American civilians were doing —
everything we personally could to aid and abet. I had little heart for
the art business.
The news of the lootings of works of art, and of the vast collections
which Hitler and Goering were assembling, began to spread almost
immediately after the fall of France. This was of such moment to me
that I felt it imperative to take certain protective steps to assist in the
reclamation of looted property after the war. I drew up a memoran-
dum containing my ideas which was duly forwarded to Washington
through Francis Henry Taylor of the Metropolitan Museum, who
was also working on the problem. I suggested that all works of art
identifiable as property which had been looted or sold through coer-
cion, or was so suspected because a satisfactory provenance could not
be furnished, be "neutralized" for a period of twenty-five years and
that descriptions of such works of art be given wide circulation. I had
several conferences with Baron Edouard of Rothschild on the topic;
he and the Baroness had fled France to New York and were living
in a modest apartment. He was much concerned about the fate of
the Rothschild collections, and I thought if I could get a few influen-
tial collectors such as he to set an example by preparing their lists, it
would encourage others to do the same. He approved the idea for
others, but, with typical Rothschild reluctance to draw public atten-
tion, refused for himself. Baron Robert, who also spent some time in
New York during the war, had taken the precaution of scattering the
most precious items from his collection among friends. While he, of
course, wondered whether he would ever see them again, he was
much too worried over the fate of his sons, Alain and Elie, officers in
tank corps and at that time prisoners of the Germans, to give much
thought to the lesser problem. Fortunately, most of us did recover
234
The Second World War
the greater portion of our art properties, but this was due to the
methodical temperament of the Germans, who kept such careful
records of their pseudo-purchases, rather than to any official lists
registered with the government. Ironically, the addition of "Chosen
for the private collection of Goering," as the Paris exhibition cata-
logue of recovered works of art so euphemistically put it, will doubt-
less add interest to the provenance for future art historians.
I still feel that there should be some sort of international agreement
for the protection of owners of works of art and potential buyers.
Museum collections, of course, are well known, but if private col-
lectors had had their possessions registered with some central bureau,
there would have been much less chicanery after the war. By no
means all the looted objects found their way home, and several mu-
seums would have been spared the onus of receiving stolen property.
When it was finally all over and we could begin to think of getting
back to the business of living again and of selling works of art, I went
to France as soon as possible to see my family, what could be done to
help them, and whether we could pick up the pieces of the Paris firm.
It had always been my wish that the two firms of Seligmann, sepa-
rated when my father and my Uncle Arnold quarreled in 1912, be
reunited. Over the years, I had made several attempts to effect this
reconciliation, but without concrete results. The war, in a sad way
accomplished this. Jean, who was executed by the Nazis, had been
at the head of Arnold Seligmann & Cie. since the death of his father;
his brother, Armand, a successful attorney, had no desire to run an art
business, and the firm was thus without a leader. They still had the
old quarters, the original Seligmann Galleries, on the Place Vendome.
We were anxious to dispose of the rue de la Paix building, which rent
ceilings had made an economic burden. To consolidate the two firms,
now that old enmities had been washed out by mutual hardships,
seemed the reasonable thing. It was not a complete merger, however.
It really substituted one split, this time an amicable one, for another.
It was agreed to make separate financial and administrative entities
of the Paris and New York houses. Thus today, Francois-Gerard has
the combined Paris firms at Place Vendome and I the New York busi-
ness, affiliated only by ties of affection.
In New York the art market remained reasonably active during the
war years, but at least as far as my own gallery was concerned, exhi-
235
MERCHANTS OF ART
bitions were practically discontinued. This was partially due to the
fact that the firm decided to give up the big house on 51st Street and
move to our present smaller quarters at 5 East 57th Street, a process
which considerably disrupted normal gallery activities. Our first
showing of note in the new galleries was an exhibition of the paintings
of the Plongeurs series by Fernand Leger, who was then living in
this country, in the spring of 1944.
One of the first postwar concerns was to reactivate the Contempo-
rary American Department, with Theresa Parker, of course, at its
head. She organized one of the most remarkable series of exhibitions
the firm ever held, entitled "Twenty-five and Under." The purpose
was to make it possible for young artists from Seattle or Butte, Santa
Fe or Dallas, to exhibit in New York, and they created a tremendous
stimulus, not only for the artists, but for us. The participants were
mainly youngsters just out of military service, and all of us were
touched by their eagerness to turn once again from an atmosphere of
destruction to one of creation. The out-of-town artists were selected
from those recommended by colleges or art centers throughout the
country, and those from the New York area by direct contact. Those
shows were so warmly received by both newspapers and periodicals
that many invitations resulted and a traveling schedule kept the series
on tour for a year. There were other exhibitions with the same purpose
in mind, "Paintings from Cold Water Flats," "Six by Six, Paintings
by Printmakers," etc. Among the artists introduced in that postwar
period were such names as Roger Anliker, now Associate Professor at
Carnegie Tech.; Kahlil Gibran, who since has turned very success-
fully to sculpture; Robert Goodnough, whose name one hears more
often each year; Sam Hunter, writer and museum director; Harry
Jackson whose paintings at that time were quite abstract; Wolf Kahn
and his brother Peter, presently on the art staff at Cornell; Arthur
Kraft of Kansas City and creator of many sculptures at the Northland
Shopping Center outside of Detroit, of which Victor Gruen was the
architect; Seong Moy, the lyrical printmaker and painter, who now
has his own summer school in Provincetown; the sculptor David New-
man; and Larry Rivers, then concerned with abstraction.
Ultimately we settled down to the sponsorship of a small group,
with exhibitions spaced in a measure more commensurate with our
limited quarters. Rico Lebrun became our first "name" artist, and two
years before his great Crucifixion exhibition at the Los Angeles
236
The Second World War
County Museum opened, we held his first one-man painting show.
Cleve Gray, who had recently returned from overseas, became the
second on our roster, with his dramatic impressions of war-torn
buildings. As time went on other names were added and the inevita-
ble changes took place, with the American Department continuing in
its policy of showing works of quality regardless of direction.
Not the least stimulating aspect of presenting contemporary exhi-
bitions is the contact it brings with young collectors and students.
Exhibitions of whatever period also attract both the student artist
and the student art historian, and we have always striven to make the
gallery hospitable to them, whether it be for loans or to study periods
and artists of which the firm may have examples. Furthermore, it has
always been our policy to allow payments over a given time to the
young collector with a limited income. Years ago I realized how dis-
couraging it must be for a would-be collector to read of the astro-
nomic prices brought by paintings fashionable at the moment, yet a
drawing, if available, might prove a foreseeable acquisition.
The aesthetic and emotional appeal of drawings is infinite, for here
one shares the artist's first thoughts, personal and intimate, often
fleeting, quickly recorded like notes of a melody which haunt the
musician. Certain drawings of Seurat, for instance, reveal a lyricism
which never reached his paintings, excluded by the strict scientific
laws the artist set for himself. What limited knowledge we would
have of the universality of Leonardo's vision were it not for his draw-
ings, or of artists whose output in paint was small, like Diirer and
Mantegna, or of those who died very young, like Gericault, Boning-
ton, and Seurat.
An artist's graphic production is indispensable to an understanding
of the evolution of his technique and of his style. It is almost an ob-
sessive point with me (perhaps an evidence of conservatism) that
before an artist can be called great he must be a capable draftsman.
Artists who try to dispense with this basic skill, dismissing it as an old-
fashioned method, are headed toward creative sterility. It is easy to
argue that thoughts and inspirations may be projected directly on
canvas without preliminary drawings or water-color sketches; but oil
is not a sufficiently supple medium to lend itself to spontaneous es-
says. More practically, it is too expensive for the trials and errors of
the novice or for recording the hundreds of ideas which come crowd-
ing to the creative mind. I find it extremely difficult to take seriously
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MERCHANTS OF ART
an artist who cannot show me pencil or wash sketches, so much more
revealing of his inner personality and his progressive evolution than
a series of finished oils.
There is no doubt that drawings have been attracting an ever- wider
public, and one man has probably had more to do with this than
almost anyone else, Paul J. Sachs of the Fogg Art Museum. His own
collection, much of it now presented to his beloved Fogg, is a remark-
able one, but it was his eloquence as a teacher of future museum cura-
tors, art historians, and collectors which gave impetus to the renais-
sance of drawings among American amateurs.
238
CHAPTER XXII
The Postwar Scene
World War II closed the European art market to Ameri-
can buyers for almost six years. As soon as travel was
again feasible there was naturally a great rush of dealers to replenish
diminished stocks and collectors to see what American dollars would
buy. The postwar market was further enlivened by the fact that both
France and England, always the reservoirs par excellence which sup-
ply the world, were on a closed economy. That is, they could export,
within certain limits imposed by the national museums, but they
would not import. Perforce any French or English capital available
for such luxuries had to be spent within the boundaries of the respec-
tive countries. European collectors, to whom works of art are capital
assets, spurred by fear of inflation and currency devaluation, bid
against one another and against the foreign collectors and dealers.
The natural result was an increase in prices.
The art market had already experienced the effect of this kind of
closed economy during the Nazi regime in Germany, where prices
were roughly one-third higher than on the free markets of France and
England or in the United States. The postwar years saw this repeated
in France and England. It should be emphasized, however, that this
economic phenomenon applies only to works of international im-
portance; the price of objects of purely local interest is governed by
local demand. This is an important point which few collectors under-
stand. A good example is Americana, a field in which certain col-
lectors have invested lavishly. In the United States, Americana has
historical, cultural, and sentimental value, hence it brings good prices.
But even a fine collection would bring little on the Paris market,
unless someone should decide to speculate with an eye to the Amer-
239
MERCHANTS OF ART
ican trade. The comparatively high prices paid in New York a few
years ago for paintings by certain Swedish artists were due to this
arbitrage; they were bought solely for export. No lack of aesthetic
merit is implied in either case; it is simply that each plays only a
tributary role in the over-all pageant of art history. A collection of
paintings by the French petits-maitres, despite shipping costs, could
certainly bring a better return in Paris than in New York; likewise a
collection reflecting the German aesthetic might find a readier market
in Berlin or Frankfurt. The prices of great international leaders may
drop under economic or social stress, but they always have a market
whether at home or abroad.
The possibility of acquiring a great work of art diminishes each
year, however, in proportion to shrinkage of the market supply. Laws
controlling their export from Western Europe grow ever more strin-
gent. Supply from the Iron Curtain countries has been almost entirely
cut off. Each year a certain number of paintings enter public muse-
ums; barring exceedingly unusual circumstance, these are out of the
market forever. All of these factors contribute to the prices which
must be paid today for great paintings. What valuation is to be put
on a Van Eyck, an important Watteau, or a Vermeer? Rarity places
them beyond the normal laws of supply and demand; it becomes a
question of the available means of a private collector or a public
institution.
Nevertheless there are still great collections of superior quality
which will eventually reach the market again. This is particularly
true in Europe where laws of inheritance and the tax structure do
not encourage the lavish benefactions which have channeled Amer-
ican collections into museums. It also happens, both in this country
and abroad, that a collector's heirs have little interest in his treasures,
preferring cash to aesthetic satisfaction.
There are fewer than forty fully acknowledged and recognized
paintings by Vermeer. Only four are in private hands and may reason-
ably be expected ever to reach the market. The most exciting mo-
ment of my career came when one of these was turned over to me
to sell. Some of the people who made this possible must remain anon-
ymous and some of the details omitted, but it began like this.
Soon after the war, in Florence, I was surprised on the street by a
familiar voice urgently calling my name. The caller was an old friend
240
The Postwar Scene
who had been trying to catch up with me all day. He knew I was
scheduled to leave the city that night, but could I, he asked some-
what breathlessly, take time to talk with him. He had some photo-
graphs from the Arenberg Collection which he thought would inter-
est me.
The name was enough. To any historian or art specialist, Arenberg
means one of the oldest ducal and princely families of Europe, con-
nected directly or indirectly with past and present crowned heads.
It goes back to before the 11th century, with Everard IV de la Marck,
Sire d' Arenberg, the first to receive the title of Comte de la Marck
et d'Arenberg. In 1547, the Emperor Charles V, then sovereign of the
Low Countries, reaffirmed to the descendants the privilege of bearing
the arms and the name of Arenberg. In Brussels today, the Palais
d'Arenberg, a national monument, recalls their illustrious past. To me,
the name of Arenberg meant even more. My father had visited the late
Engelbert-Marie, Due d'Arenberg, fifteenth Due d'Arschot et de
Croy, fourth Prince de Recklinghausen et Comte de la Marck, in
Brussels on a few occasions. He had told me of the great connoisseur-
ship of that much titled gentleman, as well as of the difficulties he
encountered in approaching him, for the Prince received few visitors
and those with reluctance. The Marquis de Biron, who was con-
nected with the Arenbergs through his sister's marriage, and whom
I had often seen in my earlier years, frequently mentioned the Duke.
The name also signified to me once vast holdings of land, large coal
mining interests, castles in Belgium and Germany, but above all, it
meant a great collection of works of art of the first importance. I did
not know what had become of this collection following the death of
the Due Engelbert-Marie in 1949, except that since 1914 it was no
longer in Brussels. For forty-odd years it had remained entirely hid-
den. No one knew what was still in it.
Most persistent of all the thoughts that ran through my head as I
walked to my hotel with my friend was, "What of the lovely Vermeer
Portrait of a Young Girl?" It had become a legend to art historians.
It had even been said that the painting no longer existed. Members
of the Arenberg family had found it convenient to be unaware of its
present whereabouts, thus evading inquiry and an immense amount
of correspondence. I was almost afraid to ask my friend about it.
When he assured me that the Vermeer did indeed still exist, but was
not for sale, I must have shown mixed feelings of relief and disap-
241
MERCHANTS OF ART
pointment, for he hastened to spread before me a group of photo-
graphs, saying, "But what do you know about the Arenberg library
of manuscripts?" Then he sat back with a satisfied smile to watch my
reactions. For a moment I was speechless. One would expect a collec-
tion of the age and renown of the Arenberg to include manuscripts,
but I was not prepared for their quality, for the apparently excep-
tional state of their preservation, or for their sumptuous beauty. For
the moment I even forgot Vermeer.
Manuscripts are a specialist's province, and I am not an expert in
the field, but later when I was able to examine these beautiful vol-
umes, I knew once more that quality has no bounds; it is a universal
property which unites all great works of art, be they manuscripts,
armor, paintings, or sculpture. Even to the nonspecialist, manuscripts
of this quality need little explanation. The periods and countries of
their origin, their remarkable state of preservation, the crispness of
the parchment, the exquisite freshness of the illuminations were at
once apparent, while a lingering knowledge of Latin, Old French and
German, gave me a further clue to their importance.
The task of handling these ancient and beautiful books during the
weeks they were in my firm's care was to afford me the unexpected
delight of delving into a new branch of knowledge, of acquiring a
small library on the subject, and in some measure gaining the techni-
cal knowledge required. When it came to establishing a scientific
catalogue, however, I realized that these manuscripts deserved the
attention of a specialist, one with both knowledge and sensitivity.
We appealed to Professor Meyer Schapiro of Columbia University.
The physical details of exhibiting the delicate and precious books
also called for professional advice, which was enthusiastically given
by Frederick B. Adams and Miss Meta Harrsen of the Morgan Library
and Miss Dorothy Miner of the Walters Gallery in Baltimore.
When the manuscripts were at last exhibited at my gallery in the
fall of 1952, it was truly a revelation. Most of them were unknown,
even to scholars. Of the thirty- three books shown, four had last been
seen publicly in 1904 and the others were not even mentioned in the
literature. During the final week of the showing, special guards had
to be installed, so large was the crowd the manuscripts drew to my
gallery. On the opening day, an exceedingly rare 11th century Ger-
man Missal of the School of Mainz, still in its original binding, was
purchased by cable by Martin Bodmer, a Swiss connoisseur whose
242
The Postwar Scene
library at Geneva is a landmark of science and beauty. A Netherland-
ish Book of Hours of the Utrecht School (about 1415) went to the
Morgan Library, which also later acquired a superb English Gospel
of great rarity, dating from around the year 1000. The exquisitely
rich and refined Book of Hours attributed to the Master of Boucicaut,
a document of tremendous interest for the development of French
primitive painting, a South Netherlandish Psalter of extraordinary
character, and the Guillebert de Metz Book of Hours with seventeen
delicately beautiful full-page miniatures went to a Parisian collector.
But all this was in the future as I looked at the photographs in
Florence. I was still entranced with the idea of the Vermeer. Though
I had been told it was not for sale, I was given the great treat of seeing
it, and I shall never forget the emotion of the moment when it was
at last placed in my hands — just to look at. Here was one of the
world's most precious paintings, not just because it is rare and costly,
but because its sheer beauty and its moving subject exude a mysteri-
ous power that is unforgettable. The painting represents, with the
utmost simplicity, a tender young girl, wearing a pale blue shawl
about her thin, childish shoulders; a creamy yellow scarf flows from
her hair, and an incredibly delicate pearl adorns her ear. She is not
a beautiful girl, but in her eyes is concentrated an amazing vitality,
as she looks wonderingly out at the world, a mysterious near-smile
upon her lips; she seems actually to breathe and to move. Much has
already been written of her, and much more will be, but no descrip-
tion and no photograph can do her justice; she must be seen.
Since 1829, when it was first known to be in the Arenberg Collec-
tion, few people had seen this painting which I held in my hands.
Today, when the name of Vermeer is familiar even to the layman, it
is easy to forget that his discovery by the modern world goes back
only to the mid-19th century when W. Thore-Burger, a French poli-
tician, critic and journalist, became entranced by the beauty of the
great View of Delft in the Mauritshuis at the Hague, and set out to
learn more about this unknown Dutchman who signed his canvas
with the monogram IVM. The Arenberg portrait was the fourth paint-
ing in the oeuvre of the master to be identified by Thore-Burger, who
discovered it when he was called upon to catalogue the paintings of
the ducal collection in 1859. This unassuming little volume, apparently
the only catalogue ever made of the collection, is important in many
ways. Not only does it give us an insight into the Arenberg Collection
243
MERCHANTS OF ART
as it existed then, but since it was written at the beginning of Thore-
Burger's researches on Vermeer, it is of great interest in the study of
that master. Even in the staid words of the catalogue, one senses the
excitement of the exiled Frenchman, on the threshold of one of art
history's great discoveries, as he records the painting found in the
Galerie d'Arenberg. After recounting something of the history of
this unknown Jan Vermeer of Delft, he continues:
"And his works? By his works one knows the master. Very well,
his works, which, in fact, indicate a workman of the first rank, his
works number. . . . Count them: one landscape in the museum of
the Hague. Two pictures in the collection of M. Six van Hillegom
of Amsterdam, perhaps a picture which is attributed to him in the
Van der Hoop Museum in Amsterdam, and ... a portrait in the
Galerie d'Arenberg!" Not abandoning his objectivity or his natural
scepticism, he follows this statement with a note to the effect that he
has just been told of a fifth, in the collection of Count Czernin of
Vienna, representing an artist in his studio with a map in the back-
ground, but, he adds, "I have not yet seen it."
Since this first recording in the Arenberg inventory, the painting
has been listed among the incontestable Vermeers in all the books
devoted to the artist, beginning with Thore-Burger's own published
in 1866. It had been exhibited, to my knowledge, only once, in Diis-
seldorf in 1904. And now after my one tantalizing glimpse, back it
had to go, into seclusion once more.
In time, the painting's owner decided that this exquisite canvas
should be put in my custody, but it was not to be offered for sale, nor
could it be shown. It could undergo a light cleaning — which was done
at my gallery under my personal supervision — and, for purposes of
identification and study, the various scientific photographs, x-ray,
ultraviolet, and infrared, could be made. A frame was also to be
chosen, with a glass to protect the canvas against air pollution, and a
special chamois-lined case, like a great jewel-box, was ordered for it.
Finally, the day came when I was authorized to arrange its sale.
The news created a sensation. Connoisseurs, collectors, and museum
officials from all over the United States and, presently, from Europe
came to see the "prodigal daughter." All of them, particularly the mu-
seum directors and their trustees, coveted it, and made plans for its
acquisition. None of these were to materialize. Within a few hours
after Mr. and Mrs. Charles B. Wrightsman, discriminating collectors
244
The Postwar Scene
and generous donors to the Metropolitan Museum, saw and fell in
love with the lovely little girl, this unique masterpiece had found a
new home.
If Europe remains the prime source of rare works — though not
always a Vermeer — Europe also continues to nourish exceptional col-
lectors. In my experience there is no better evidence of the vitality
of the tradition than the example of the late Emil Biihrle.
A collector like Biihrle is a joy and a challenge to a dealer. He not
only set himself a very definite plan, but had great knowledge in his
chosen areas and a wholly justified pride in his achievements. Buhrle's
first thought was to bring together a collection which would present
a picture of the evolution of art from roughly the beginning of impres-
sionism to our day. While such a group would have a tremendous
pedagogical quality, it would impose an aesthetic and intellectual
limit. Art, after all, involves other enjoyments besides that of teach-
ing. It was strange to me that a man endowed with so real a love of
the beautiful as Biihrle should be so categorical and determined
about his collecting, one of the few fields where escape into time and
space is still possible. It was also difficult to imagine that a man so
thoroughly immersed in international questions and in constant com-
munication with men from all over the world, could limit his aesthetic
enjoyment to so short a span, say 1870 to 1950.
Then he did step over this self-imposed boundary when he recog-
nized the importance of Courbet, an artist still too much neglected.
When he began to take an interest in Ingres and Fragonard and then
in drawings and water colors, to which he had so far given little heed,
I realized how quickly Biihrle was evolving. As further evidence that
my first instinct was right, he explained, shortly after he had acquired
several 18th century Italian paintings, that he had discovered the
close link between these artists and the French Impressionists. It
sounded almost as though, having originally set a doctrinal program,
he needed to justify to himself, and perhaps to others, this enlarge-
ment of his circle of interest, as if enjoyment alone were not a good
enough reason. The intellectual pleasure of knowing that Renoir is
indebted to Fragonard, who in turn had been impressed by Tiepolo,
or that Cezanne via Courbet continues the austere tradition of the
French classicists of the 17th century is not necessary to the emotional
enjoyment of their works.
245
MERCHANTS OF ART
Emil Biihrle, a tall, slender man, was elegant in a reserved way and
evidently fastidious about his appearance. His determined features
were softened by his smile, and his long, sensitive fingers were per-
haps a clue to his love for art and the beautiful. In an address in June,
1954, at the University of Zurich, he said that "a real collector is a
thwarted artist." This may be true, but it is not quite convincing in
his case; I doubt that Emil Biihrle would ever have had the patience
or tranquility of mind to become a painter. He was essentially a man
of action whose vitality and dynamism surpassed that of most people.
He was as willing to start a chat at midnight as at eight o'clock break-
fast. His methods of working, in fact, reminded me of American busi-
ness titans of the past. Unlike many of the Americans, however,
Biihrle, in spite of his fortune, lived very simply with democratic
Swiss dislike of ostentation. The real luxury of his home, besides his
collection, is its magnificent site overlooking the Lake of Zurich. But
Biihrle's achievements seemed more American than European, prob-
ably because we have believed that the Old World no longer offered
such possibilities.
He was born in Pforzheim, in Baden, South Germany, in 1890 and
the double pattern of his life, science and art, seems to have been set
in his formative years. As a boy of sixteen, his lively interest in scien-
tific problems earned him the nickname of "Electric Jacob"; yet, his
college career was essentially devoted to literature and the arts. Per-
haps it was his responsibilities as an artillery officer in World War I,
and later the necessity of gaining a livelihood, which turned his
thoughts once again to industrial science.
He was working for a great Magdeburg machine works when
that company acquired, in 1923, a relatively small machine tool plant
in Oerlikon, just outside Zurich. Biihrle, then thirty-four years old,
was appointed its director. By 1929, he owned a controlling interest
in the Oerlikon Werkzeugmaschinenfabrik and by 1937, Biihrle,
now a Swiss citizen, was the sole stockholder. This swift rise was
largely due to his foresight in purchasing the patents for the twenty-
millimeter Becker cannon which, with improvements and changes,
became the famous Oerlikon gun. When World War II erupted, pro-
duction was extended to England and after 1941, the gun was manu-
factured on a tremendous scale in the United States. The original
purpose of the Oerlikon factory, however, was never superseded — the
manufacture of industrial machine tools for peaceful purposes. To-
246
The Postwar Scene
day it ranges from locomotive parts to spinners for cotton and nylon
thread, and includes vast researches and production in electronics.
As for his art collection, Biihrle once compared its growth to suc-
cessive waves reaching a beach. It started, he told me, as a mild hobby
with the early purchase of two water colors by Heckel which he al-
ways kept on his walls for sentimental reasons. This first enthusiasm,
encouraged and fostered by his friend, Hugo von Tschudi, then
Director of the National Gallery in Berlin, Buhrle transformed into
a definite program to which he devoted the same determination,
pride, and love that he gave to his business. I doubt that Emil Buhrle
ever undertook anything which he did not see through, and in this
same purposeful manner, he pursued his ambition to build a collec-
tion worthy of the name he had made for himself.
Though he always referred to his "collection," it was actually al-
ready a museum, one which many a city would indeed envy. The
representation of Van Gogh is unique outside those owned by the
heirs of the artist himself. The number and quality of paintings by
Cezanne is more than impressive. There is a room devoted to Degas,
another filled with paintings by Renoir. He was fortunate in having
the encouragement and cooperation of Mrs. Buhrle and his charming
daughter, for a close relationship of both affection and understanding
of works of art is rare indeed among families of collectors. His family
also shared his interest in the generous prizes he established in Paris
for young artists and in the public spirit which prompted him to lend
freely from his collection.
If Emil Buhrle could find the time, he was always willing to listen
to new ideas and theories, but time was the asset with which he was
least willing to part. He was more lavish with money than with min-
utes. To him money represented time already spent, whereas present
time represented future success. Perhaps with the years — he was still
a comparatively young man when he died in 1956 — he might have
granted himself more hours for the enjoyment of the aesthetic treas-
ure he was storing up and which he truly loved.
247
CHAPTER XXIII
Sculpture
T
~"^he neglect of sculpture in recent years, and my own
special love for it, has led me to ponder the reasons for
this lack of public appreciation. Certainly it was not always so; is it,
then, just another inexplicable change in public taste, or are there
deeper reasons?
Perhaps the explanation goes back to the elemental reactions of
infancy, when the first response is to motion and color. Yet, the child's
first creative instinct is undeniably to build or to model. Left to his
own devices in proximity to sand and water, he creates forms which
his imagination endows with the attributes of a fortress, a man, a
horse. Modeling with any element at hand is an aptitude which man
acquires before the hand has sufficient coordination to guide pencil
or crayon.
Evidently, however, this instinct to mold with the hands is shoved
aside by environment. Should the child be attracted by the charms of
art, as he grows older, it will be to two-dimensional representation
in color; and appreciation of black and white comes only with a later
evolution. When interest (and I speak now of the layman, not the
creative artist ) develops to the sophistication of black and white, why
does it not simultaneously reach out to sculpture which has the added
element of three-dimensionalism?
The explanation escapes me. With the development of the tactile
sense, it seems to me that to caress, even visually, a sensitive and
beautifully realized sculpture yields great rewards; it actually calls
for a lesser effort of the imagination than a similar tactile reaction to
a two-dimensional representation. My wife tells me of having once
conducted a party of blind youngsters through the museum in Kansas
248
Sculpture
City, where she was a staff member. In the painting galleries one
could only try with the feeble means of words to convey by descrip-
tion what a painting looked like, but they were allowed to "see" the
sculpture with their hands. It was fascinating to watch their reactions.
One teen-aged girl actually recoiled when her probing fingers ran
over the hideous grimace of a Chinese demon-guardian. She defi-
nitely felt the menace of his expression and cried out, "Oh, he is ugly."
But she smiled and allowed her hands to linger lovingly upon the
velvety planes of a marble Madonna.
The blind girl was undoubtedly an unusually perceptive child, and
her hands had developed a sensitivity to compensate for her lack of
sight. But if the hands are able to convey such vivid images to the
mind, why is it more difficult for the eye to do so? One can only con-
clude that a person is born with this faculty, or he lacks it. If it exists
in essence, it may be developed; but if nature has left it out, it cannot
be acquired. I have observed that some people are instantaneously
affected by the sight of great sculpture while others, however hard
they may try, remain cold and untouched. It is true, however, that
the full measure of enjoyment comes only with an imagination able
to understand the purpose of the artist who created each sculpture,
to place it mentally in its proper environment, so that its height, its
distance from the beholder, its background are implicitly understood.
To do this requires knowledge as well as love.
Personally I would go so far as to say that sculpture is the highest
form of art, and the sculptor, creative capacities being equal, is a
greater artist than the painter. This opinion will doubtless be chal-
lenged, but it is one which I am little apt, at this point in my age and
experience, to change. It derives directly from the sheer enjoyment
I receive from a great plastic form. This predilection, which I may
have inherited from my father, also an ardent admirer of sculpture,
explains the emphasis our firm has always put on this particular field.
It is instinctive, not a result of a premeditated decision or of business
acumen. In fact, the reluctance of the public, and even of many mu-
seums, to collect sculpture makes it one of the least profitable fields
for the dealer.
Let there be no misunderstanding. I speak only in terms of works of
superior quality. First among the requisites is the material. Marble
is to me the medium par excellence. Always the most costly, it is also
the most difficult to work; an inadvertent stroke of the chisel cannot
249
MERCHANTS OF ART
be made good. The greatest artists ever since the Greeks have chosen
it for their masterpieces. Next comes bronze, which up to the 16th and
even the 17th centuries was a difficult technique to master, at least in
a monumental work. In the 18th century, with a few exceptions,
bronze was again abandoned in favor of marble; but in the 19th it
regained its prominence through such artists as Rodin and Degas.
There are exceptions, of course. One of my proudest finds of many
years back was a wonderful pink stone angel of the 13th century
which had turned up among the debris of a demolition in the old city
of Strasbourg. It was actually Robert Forrer, connoisseur, collector,
and Professor at the University of Strasbourg who discovered it, but
it was too big to be shown to advantage in his small house; over five
feet in height, it needed perspective. He could not hide his chagrin
that he must let it go. How ideally beautiful, how moving is this angel,
yet how simple its fines. The slight dehanchement, the inclination of
the head, and, above all, the divine smile give it an intense life,
warmed by the delicate glow of the pink stone. Certainly there is no
more magnificent achievement in all art than the stone sculptures of
the Middle Ages. Stone was also marvelously used in the Renaissance,
nor can one overlook the delightful boxwood figures and ivory carv-
ings of these periods.
This feeling for materials has led me to disregard certain media
which in my earlier years I was willing to consider — sculptures made
in molds or by similar techniques, terra cottas, stuccos, plasters,
which allow reproduction ad infinitum. Houdon, for example, re-
minds us in his notes that he delivered twenty-one plaster busts made
after his famous marble portrait of Sophie Arnould. Evidently they
were passed around to her admirers much as photographs would be
today. Again, however, I must make exception of the charming pro-
ductions of the 18th century in France, when artists like Clodion and
Marin achieved such delicacy in terra cotta. On the other hand, one
knows all too many monotonous and dull polychromed stuccos of the
Renaissance, "inspired" by Donatello or Rossellino.
This does not imply that they are necessarily fakes, though there
have been plenty, for molded media lend themselves easily to the
hand of the faker. Not even the difficulties of marble, however, have
been proof against the master forger, the classic example being the
great, for he was great in his twisted way, Alceo Dossena. It was
thanks to the timely warnings of Dr. Leo Planiscig, then Curator of
250
Sculpture
the Kunsthistorisches Museum in Vienna, that I never joined the
ranks of Dossena's victims. During one of my visits to Planiscig in
the early twenties, he showed me photographs he had gathered over
the past several years of Italian sculptures, all of which were for-
geries. They were pieces which had been widely extolled in Italy,
and Planiscig, knowing my partiality to marbles, suggested that I
be on my guard. Sooner or later one would undoubtedly be offered
to me.
Planiscig did not then know the name of the forger, but he was
making every effort to trace each piece back to its origin. He was
already convinced that all of them had come from the same Italian
city. A year or so later, I again saw his files, now grown to considerable
proportions, and by that time he had learned the identity of the
forger-craftsman. Seen together they revealed their common char-
acteristics; particularly striking was a similarity of vacuousness which
became more and more noticeable as it was multiplied by numerous
examples. Meanwhile, I had seen and studied one of these spurious
sculptures, which was so attractive that had I not been forewarned,
I should probably have been another victim. Had Dossena been con-
tent to make only one or two statues, it would doubtless have taken
much longer to expose him; fortunately, overproduction is the com-
mon mistake of most forgers, and the greedy intermediaries who
exploit them.
It was Planiscig's intention to make his discoveries known first to
his colleagues and then to publish his documents. When the Dossena
affair was made public in 1928, Planiscig's photographs were used
in an article appearing in the Illustrated London News, one of them
carrying the notation that the sculpture had been offered to the
Kunsthistorisches Museum in 1922 and refused. Although many peo-
ple have since claimed to have been the first to recognize the work
of the perverted Italian genius, I do not believe that Dossena would
have been exposed as early as he was without the pioneering detec-
tive work of Leo Planiscig.
Planiscig was a great scholar of the whole field of Italian sculpture,
but bronzes were particularly dear to him. Though Bode had already
devoted some study to them, it was the authoritative works of Planis-
cig which demonstrated their real importance. Many of the greatest
artists of the 15th and 16th centuries worked in this medium, and our
knowledge of such men as Giovanni da Bologna and the Leoni would
251
MERCHANTS OF ART
be indeed incomplete without a study of the bronzes. One of my
most cherished finds in bronze, a small thing as precious objects often
are, was not really my find, but Leo Planiscig's.
He had seen, in an obscure Viennese antique shop, a little bronze
Venus with an Amor, mounted on the same base with a quite ordinary
equestrian Marcus Aurelius or some such Roman, with which it had
nothing whatever to do. His discerning eye had detected at once that
they were completely different in period, treatment, and patina. If he
were not greatly mistaken, the Venus was certainly by the hand of
one of the masters of Italian Renaissance sculpture. I chanced to be
in Vienna at the time and Planiscig told me about it. He was well
known to the shop owner, he said, and had been there several times.
He did not want to go back again for fear of arousing too much inter-
est, but would I go? "I won't mention an artist," he said, "but if you
get it, I'd like a chance to study it for a few days; then I'll tell you if
I'm right or wrong."
Dr. Planiscig's word on bronze sculpture was law to me. Even with-
out it, had I seen the little Venus first, I would have bought it, so im-
mediate was its appeal. In spite of its size, small enough to fit in one's
pocket, it evoked a tactile reaction of tantalizing proportions. Shed
of its encumbrances of base and Marcus Aurelius, dusted and pol-
ished, the soft, mellowness of the extraordinary patina gave it the
"feel" of gold, and every facet of its modeling revealed the fingers
of a master. Obviously cast from a wax model, it had been carefully
chiseled and hammered in every minute detail; the hair, the nails on
hands and feet, all were exquisitely delineated, but with a mastery
that gave the whole an intense vitality and an amazing monumen-
tality.
Planiscig kept it in lus office for several days, studying it and com-
paring it with other bronzes in the Kunsthistorische Collection. At
last he told me what he had not dared express earlier for fear that his
imagination had run away with him. Dramatically, placing it side by
side with the great Tellus and Neptune saltcellar of the museum's
collection (the same one exhibited in the United States with the
Vienna Treasures in 1949-1950), he pointed out what was then to
me, as to him, the only answer. It could only be from the hand of that
fabulous genius of the jewel-like and the monumental, Benvenuto
Cellini.
Naturally, Planiscig wanted it desperately for his museum, but no
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Sculpture
funds were available. So, in the hope that it might some day find its
way into the institution he so loved, he suggested that we offer it to
a Viennese collector and benefactor of the museum. At this moment,
Dr. William Valentiner also happened to be in Vienna. He immedi-
ately concurred in the attribution to Cellini and he, too, would have
liked to acquire it for the Detroit Museum. However, I was com-
mitted to Planiscig's collector friend, August Lederer. Lederer and
his son, Eric, collected together in a rare partnership; if Eric had the
greater taste and knowledge, his father was willing and pleased to
be guided by him. But the Vienna Museum did not get the small
bronze, either. The superb Lederer Collection of Renaissance paint-
ings and objets d'art, including the Cellini, was looted during the
last war so I was told. I have never known its fate.
I encountered Leo Planiscig once in Venice when he was devoting
his holiday to a search for unrecorded sculptures among the churches,
palaces, and public buildings of that lovely old city. Until that time
I had met him only in his official capacity of Curator in Vienna, and
it was the hours I spent in his company in Venice which developed
a real friendship and led me to a full appreciation of one of the most
charming men I have ever known. His gaiety, his sharp wit, his bril-
liantly quick mind made him a delightful companion, as well as a
learned mentor. He was then gathering documents on the Lombardi
dynasty — Pietro, Antonio, and the great Tullio — and he initiated me
into the difficulties of scaffoldings as we climbed about lofty churches,
I gleaning precious bits of knowledge as he chatted about the works
he was examining. When I saw him last, a few summers ago, at the
villa in Florence to which he had retired after the Nazi invasion of
Austria, he showed me the large, carefully labeled and documented
file of photographs for his book on the Lombardi. An untimely death
unfortunately prevented the publication of this work to which he
had given so much time and effort. It also prevented the fulfillment
of one of his dearest wishes, a visit to the United States.
Mutual interest also drew me to Paul Vitry, for many years Chief
Curator of Sculpture at the Louvre, but I am afraid it was a somewhat
frustrating friendship for both of us. Upon three different occasions
we had numerous conversations and lengthy correspondence about
French sculptures which both of us would have liked to see remain
in France, but which could not for lack of funds.
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MERCHANTS OF ART
One of these was a marble bas-relief, a Descent from the Cross, by
the rare 16th century French sculptor, Jean Goujon. I hastened to
call it to Vitry's attention, not solely because he was a Curator of the
Louvre, but also because he was a connoisseur who reacted to beauty
with sensitivity and intuition as well as assured judgment. He needed
no documentation to attest its historical existence before allowing
himself to admire a work of art. If documents were available, well
and good, but their lack never caused him to deny a lovely object its
very identity, as too frequently happened in the Chartist tradition
of scholarship.
Vitry was highly interested by the bas-relief, brought his col-
leagues to see it, and asked me if I would be willing to reserve it
while he endeavored to raise the funds for its purchase. When the
Louvre itself could not finance it, he asked for an extension of time
while he negotiated with the Institut de France in the hope that they
might buy it for the Musee Jacquemart- Andre. Since I had found the
sculpture in England and re-imported it into France, I needed no
authorization to export it again, and I was under no obligation to
present it first to the French museums; but the dearth of French
Renaissance sculptures in their homeland gave me a double moral
responsibility, and I was happy to grant his request for more time.
That the bas-relief eventually found its way to the Metropolitan Mu-
seum in New York is surely America's gain, but France's loss cannot
be laid to any lack of effort on the part of Paul Vitry.
Another series of interviews with Vitry concerned a life-sized mar-
ble statue of Saint Barbara by another 16th century French sculptor,
Germain Pilon. In this case he found himself in an embarrassing
dilemma. He wanted the statue, but apparently the Louvre had not
bid for it at the Kraemer auction in 1913 (Vitry was not yet Chief
Curator at that time ) , and now it was difficult for him to propose it
at a considerably higher price. This handsome marble, now in Kansas
City, must surely have been part of a monumental architectural com-
position, still unidentified. However, I feel certain that a keen eye will
some day detect the clue to this mystery in some neglected document
in the prodigious archives of France. If Vitry were still alive, it would
in all probability be he who would dig it up, for with true scholarly
objectivity, he never lost interest in the problems of a sculpture which
he admired, even though it might have passed from his official
province.
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Sculpture
I saw this intellectual tenacity well demonstrated in connection
with another work which the firm owned, this time a marble bust by
Jean-Antoine Houdon of the charlatan Cagliostro, who played an
important, if not very savory role in the annals of the 18th century.
The bust had come from the Wallace-Bagatelle Collection, and Vitry,
who was an authority on Houdon, had written of it as far back as
1908, when it was lent to an exhibition by Sir John Murray Scott. I
am sure Vitry must have coveted it for the Louvre even then, and
now that it was available, it was the same old story no funds and no
interested donor in sight. Apparently, Vitry never forgot the piece or
the problem which it had posed to him as a student of Houdon's work.
The problem was that there were two nearly identical marbles of
Cagliostro, both signed and dated the same year. A most unusual cir-
cumstance, for while Houdon frequently made a whole series of
plasters, he seldom repeated himself in marble; the Voltaire series is
an exception. They had come to light at about the same time in the
1860's, after having been lost to public knowledge, one going to Lord
Hertford, and the other eventually to the museum at Aix-en-Provence.
Who had commissioned them, and why had Houdon found it neces-
sary to make two?
When the Cagliostro bust went to London, at Paul Vitry 's request,
for the great exhibition of French art in 1932, I sent the meager his-
torical data I had. Upon receiving the catalogue, I was amazed to find
that Vitry had added not only to the bibliography but to the history.
(The Cagliostro appears only in the later editions of the 1932 cata-
logue, as the bust was in New York at the time and I hesitated to send
it on account of the fragility of the marble until too late for the early
printing.) He had discovered that the Cardinal de Rohan, a great
admirer of the mercurial Cagliostro, had once owned a marble por-
trait of him. Further, Vitry found that another had at one time been
in the Temple of Freemasonry in Lyon. When I saw Vitry, he told
me he had concluded that my portrait must surely be the one origi-
nally commissioned by Rohan, his reasoning being that so important
a personage and so great a connoisseur as Rohan would never have
accepted the Aix bust because of blemishes in the marble itself. Vitry
had hoped to have both at the London exhibition in order to compare
them in detail. I am sorry this was not done, as I have always believed
that they differ in subtle ways that photographs, made in different
places under different conditions, are not precise enough to reveal.
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MERCHANTS OF ART
It was my personal love of sculpture which led me to persist in the
pursuit of what appeared for a time to be a figment of my imagina-
tion— a group of Italian marble sculptures of the 14th and 15th cen-
turies from the collection of His Highness the Prince of Liechtenstein.
The justly celebrated collection of the House of Liechtenstein was
begun in the 15th century, with at least one Prince in each generation
a devoted gatherer of works of art. In the 19th century, Johann II
put the final touches on its greatness, published catalogues and guide
books, and opened the galleries of the Liechtenstein Palace in Vienna
to the public. Just before World War II, the works of art were re-
moved to the tiny principality of Liechtenstein where, with the ex-
ception of a part which has been exhibited in various European mu-
seums, it had remained.
When rumors began to circulate, several years ago, about possible
sales from this princely group, I realized that the most important
paintings would be sold at extremely high prices, high enough to
preclude the possibility of outright purchase by dealers. This im-
pression was confirmed when several paintings were consigned for
sale to certain galleries, but without exclusive contract. I was not
interested in this kind of procedure, nor in the paintings of lesser
merit which might admit of outright purchase. My thoughts turned
in the direction of sculpture, for it seemed to me that this collection,
built up over several centuries when paintings were not the sole in-
terest of the amateur, should include exceptional sculptures.
I had a vague recollection of having seen marbles in the Vienna
Gallery years ago, but the only object I could recall with any clarity
was a well-known bas-relief of a Madonna and Child, then attributed
to Rossellino. I consulted catalogues and old guide books, the latest
of an exhibition in 1952 in Lucerne of part of the collection. It men-
tioned only a few small bronzes and no larger works. The old guide
books were of little assistance for they contained vague references
and no reproductions; the only work of importance prominently men-
tioned was the aforesaid Rossellino now attributed to Benedetto da
Maiano.
My search seemed to lead nowhere. The obvious solution of going
directly to the castle in Vaduz where the Prince now resided hardly
seemed the proper method. At that point it occurred to me that my
best source of information was, again, Leo Planiscig, whose knowl-
edge of Austrian collections was encyclopedic. Accordingly, on my
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Sculpture
next trip to Europe, I called on him in Florence, where he had taken
refuge after the Nazi invasion of Austria. He was able to confirm my
belief that a group of exceptional trecento and quattrocento Italian
marbles had been in the Liechtenstein Collection. Most valuable,
however, was his recollection that photographs existed in a certain
library, difficult of access but possible.
After lengthy correspondence, the reproductions at last reached
my hands. Then came a process of elimination. Finally, photographs
of seven Italian sculptures of the 14th and 15th centuries, all in mar-
ble, were selected. Provided reality bore out the reproductions, it was
these that my firm would try to purchase. There would be no con-
signment and no third parties involved.
It is only just and proper that due credit be given here to the late
Dr. William R. Valentiner for the disinterested help and guidance he
gave me in making my choice. Italian sculpture was also one of his
most beloved areas of research. So broad was his knowledge that a
glance at the photographs enabled him to identify several of them
immediately, opinions which he was happy to reaffirm when he saw
the originals. The catalogue which my firm published — masterpieces
of this rarity call for a special publication — sums up the available data
for those who care to consult it, but the mastery of Valentiner's im-
mediate classification is worthy of comment.
He at once recognized the exquisite Angel of the Annunciation by
the Master of the Mascoli Altar as belonging with three figures, a
Virgin and the Saints Peter and Paul, already in the Samuel H. Kress
Foundation Collection. Thus when the Foundation acquired the
seven Liechtenstein sculptures for the National Gallery, the Angel
Gabriel could once more greet the Virgin, and the gesture of his up-
raised hand regain its full significance. The Prudentia and the Justitia,
briefly mentioned in the Liechtenstein catalogue as by a Naples artist
of the 14th century, called to his mind the tomb of Folchino degli
Schizzi in Cremona, a dated monument signed by Bonino da Cam-
pione. He was able to reinforce this attribution by the most convinc-
ing evidence when he produced from his remarkable files what ap-
parently is the only existing photograph of the Cremona tomb. Not
the least of my admiration for Valentiner was the fact that he always
knew exactly where in his tiers of file cabinets to find what he wanted.
I first met William Valentiner when I accompanied my father to
the United States in 1913. American museums, in those early days of
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MERCHANTS OF ART
their history, had few professional art historians or museum experts
and it was J. Pierpont Morgan, the Metropolitan's new President,
who began to recruit trained personnel both here and abroad. When
Morgan appealed to Wilhelm von Bode, Director of the Kaiser Fried-
rich Museum in Berlin for a recommendation for the department of
decorative art, Bode named his young assistant, Valentiner, as his
first choice. Valentiner served in this capacity from 1908 until World
War I called him back to Germany. Immediately after the war he
returned to this country, became a citizen and, as head of the Detroit
Institute of Arts, helped build that museum into one of the nation's
finest. At the time of his death in 1959, he was consultant to Detroit
and to the Los Angeles County Museum, as well as Director of the
new North Carolina Museum of Art at Raleigh. His entire career was
closely linked to the artistic development of the United States to
which he made significant contribution.
His chief fields of interest — and he was unsurpassed in them — were
Dutch painting and Italian sculpture. His studies in the latter re-
vealed a vast amount of fascinating new material. It is amazing that
so much misconception could still exist in a field already so well
worked. Too often we have been satisfied with the repetition of
hearsay, the printing and reprinting of legends which do not stand
up under close examination and empirical study.
The amount of actual physical labor involved in the study of sculp-
ture is far greater than in paintings, entailing as it often does on-the-
spot work in old buildings or ancient churches in towns off the beaten
path. Valentiner, like Planiscig, had special scaffoldings built to en-
able him to climb to some shadowy part of a church to study at close
range a statue practically hidden in the obscurity. Getting permission
to do so and finding a photographer willing to make the same climb
in order to record the findings were not the least of the difficulties.
When I last saw Valentiner, in the summer of 1959, he was seventy-
eight, and we spent two long sessions examining together the several
rooms of French 17th century paintings then on exhibition in Paris.
He was as eager to absorb new knowledge as he had been thirty years
earlier, and he was as straight and as slim. He had the same trick of
throwing his head backward as though looking down from a great
height which gave him an air of slight condescension, even offishness.
This, as I knew, was largely a shield against intrusions on the tre-
mendous amount of work he accomplished daily. Valentiner's great
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Sculpture
quality as an art historian and expert was his instantaneous and en-
thusiastic reaction to beauty, an especially remarkable quality in view
of his early training in the narrow and pedantic Teutonic school. He
never hesitated to make an affirmative approach, unlike those who
systematically choose to be negative until they have dissected a work
of art to find out how and why it ticks. He had faith, and rightly, in
his own judgment and in his reaction to those imponderables which
create an emotional euphoria.
259
CHAPTER XXIV
Summing Up
r
"n the more than forty years in which Jacques Seligmann
headed his firm, he witnessed many changes in the man-
ner of collecting, in the type of objects collected, and in the economics
of the art world. But the changes which took place between 1880 and
1923 were small compared to those of the last four decades. Men who
were masters of their profession in 1920 might find themselves in a
completely alien world today.
The art scene must be viewed in its relation to the political, social,
and economic crises which have buffeted the world. Though several
American industrialists had built superb collections before 1914,
prosperous Europe with its balanced economy and stores of gold was
still the center of the art world. Who would have dreamed then that
Russian public treasures would one day be included in a National
Gallery at Washington? For that matter, who would have believed
that an American National Gallery, then nonexistent, would in so
short a time become one of the world's leading museums?
While Europeans by no means ceased to be interested in works of
art after World War I, the might of purchasing power shifted with
the mass of gold. The tempo of collecting in the United States in-
creased, first in quantity, then in quality, as new museums and uni-
versities began to vie with one another in the advancement of culture
and the acquisition of artistic wealth. New York seemed in a fair way
to becoming the art capital of the world. When World War II once
more plunged Europe into chaos and the postwar years raised the
American dollar to new heights of desirability, the trend was acceler-
ated. The reversal which came with the swift recovery of the Euro-
pean economy in the fifties, particularly as it affected the art market,
260
Summing Up
is one of the amazing phenomena of our time. The art markets of
London and Paris are more brilliant than ever and if European mu-
seums still are not able to compete fully with their richer American
rivals, American private collectors once more must take European
private competition into serious account.
In collecting itself, the rising demand for paintings, which began
in the twenties with the passion for old masters, continued through
the thirties with an equal passion for Impressionists and Post-Impres-
sionists. It has reached staggering heights in the prices paid at public
auction in the last few years for paintings of almost every description.
And the preoccupation with names still goes on, even though art
history has come of age, and research among the derivative artists
has proven that a name is often an ephemeral thing. Attributions have
been revised to reduce the number of paintings firmly given to many
a well-known master and, in turn, to develop a number of school
painters of considerable interest. We have long known, for instance,
that the larger compositions of Rubens were seldom painted by him
in toto. By the same process we have discovered that El Greco had a
son who was an excellent artist. The great Giambattista Tiepolo has
had to move over a bit to make room for his son, Giandomenico, who
was once scarcely noticed. There have been similar splittings of per-
sonalities, or, in reverse, regroupings about one artist of works which
have been attributed to several. The artist whose oeuvre has remained
intact is rare. As new evidence is found, these, too, may have to share
their glory.
It is interesting to speculate upon the possible reaction of the own-
ers of paintings by Pieter de Hooch had Thore-Burger's research
taken place in the 1920's or even in the 1950's, instead of the 1850's.
Would these collectors or museum directors have been pleased that
their finest Pieter de Hoochs, for which they had paid high prices,
were now attributed, by an obscure journalist, to some unknown artist
from Delft called Jan Vermeer?
If one is willing to be sufficiently objective, it must be admitted
that the desire to know the name of the author of a great masterpiece
is a curiosity of the intellect which often obscures the primary aim of
aesthetic value. An excellent example can be found in medieval art.
It would be interesting, indeed exciting, to discover the names of the
creators of medieval painting and sculpture, but that knowledge
would add not one whit to the superb beauty of these rare works.
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MERCHANTS OF ART
This is not to minimize the work of research scholars; quite the
contrary. It is they who have helped us to a rationalization of art, to a
philosophy of understanding and appreciation. To ignore their labors
would be to prefer the fog of ignorance which surrounded the infancy
of art history. Moreover, the art historian needs to be a man of con-
siderable courage; rare is the scholar who has not at one time or an-
other been held up to criticism for his classifications or attributions.
This type of criticism is a real compliment. It takes learning and en-
thusiasm, as well as courage, to launch into new territory where the
daring scholar must take a stand and back it up with stylistic evi-
dence. Often he has no documents on which to found his theory, but
must rely entirely on Ins keen senses and basic knowledge; if he
stumbles, his explorations at least show the way for others. The pas-
sive type of criticism which turns out volumes in tedious series, su-
perbly illustrated with fully recorded and well-established works of
art presents no problems. Neither does it add an ounce to the weight
of our knowledge.
The scholar first became indispensable to the dealer for the en-
dorsement he could give, but how much more necessary he is today
for the enrichment his publications, his cooperation, and an ever-
increasing personal relationship has brought to the dealer. Indeed, it
is he who has put the dealer on his mettle to develop his own knowl-
edge, to build up his own research staff and his own library, to be-
come himself something of an art historian.
With art scholarship in constant evolution, with new discoveries
and new documentation coming to light every day, it would seem
that the name of an artist should mean less to the collector and bring
him once more to my father's dictum, "Only quality counts. Quality
is enduring, and quality can be judged." This very process — the attri-
bution of a work of art first to one master and then, in the course of
time, to another — should propel a collector to search for quality. Can
we admire less the lovely profile portrait, formerly in the Mackay
Collection and now in the National Gallery in Washington, because
it was once called a Pisanello but now seems generally recognized as
by an unknown French artist of the international style? Does it
actually diminish our enjoyment of the superb youthful David — the
beautiful marble of the Widener Collection — to know that John Pope-
Hennessy has recently proved beyond doubt that it is the work of
Rosellino rather than a capital work of Donatello? Joe Widener, were
262
Summing Up
he still alive, might be disappointed, for it can be argued that, for the
time being at least, a work by Donatello may have a greater financial
worth. It is possible, also, that Widener might not have bought it had
it been called Rossellino, and that would have been a great loss to the
country's art collection.
Moreover, if a great name can sell a fine work of art, there is the
dangerous possibility that it can also over-sell a less worthy one.
Witness the sheeplike rush of certain of today's collectors to acquire
canvases by names in the modern field. Not every painting of an artist
is equally great; over-emphasis increases an already dangerous ten-
dency to admire the mediocre with the superb because it bears the
name of a master. So determined was Rouault to guard his reputa-
tion, even after the grave, that he destroyed great numbers of paint-
ings which he considered unworthy of his talent. Renoir, unfortu-
nately, did not take such precautions; the leavings of Renoir's studio,
the sketches, the studies, the discarded canvases, are now all care-
fully catalogued and stamped. These indifferent little paintings can
add nothing to the grandeur of the master and, what is more, can
give little aesthetic satisfaction to their owners.
The dealers must certainly share the blame for this trend. The con-
stant repetition of exhibitions of the works of the favorites of the late
19th and 20th centuries only serves to confirm a public taste already
too eager to follow the leader, instead of broadening that taste to
look objectively at the relative merits of periods and artists. As much
as we admire Renoir and Van Gogh, it is not the function of the pro-
gressive dealer to show their works over and over again. That is the
province of the museums which can keep them permanently on dis-
play. The dealer should dare to show the neglected artist, the for-
gotten period, if convinced they are neglected or forgotten unde-
servedly, not through lack of intrinsic merit.
This great inflation of prestige and price of 19th and early 20th cen-
tury paintings has another unfortunate aspect — its effect upon con-
temporary artists. Much of the speculative buying today in the con-
temporary field can be described as blind buying. Choices often are
made not because of any particular enjoyment of the paintings them-
selves or for their quality, but for purely mercenary ends. The simple
of mind, knowing the golden opportunities which their fathers missed
— the Cezannes, the Van Goghs, the Seurats which went begging for
purchasers during the lifetimes of the artists — imagine that they are
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MERCHANTS OF ART
assured of future profits when they invest in any painting by a young
artist around whom enough publicity has been woven. In their haste
to take advantage of a good thing, the speculators — dealers and col-
lectors alike — urge the artist to produce beyond his capacity. The
artist, unless he has great force of character, may allow himself to be
drawn into a hot-house atmosphere, under an obligation to work at
double time. Genius cannot be created by force of will, an artist's
tempo of production cannot be accelerated beyond its normal pace,
nor can his creative direction be set by another.
The clamor that accompanies every exhibition of the work of some
much advertised young newcomer (the younger, the better, as he
will have longer to live and more time to produce ) creates a climate
difficult to escape unless strict objectivity is guarded. Real and lasting
recognition has seldom come to an artist in a single showing of a few
canvasas; his talent can only be truly evaluated upon aesthetic prog-
ress. This needs time. And it is not the quality of his publicity which
must stand the test of time, but the quality of his creative ability.
Of course, the dealer should encourage and promote the young
unknown artist, and, of course, the public should buy his work. But
the situation as we too often see it today is an affront to real artists
who know that true success does not come easily; that there are bound
to be setbacks along the way, and that hard work and glamor are not
synonymous. Just as it takes knowledge and affection to choose a
painting of, say, the 17th century which comes without a pedigree
and no certification of a great master's name, so it takes knowledge
and affection to choose contemporary works of art which will satisfy
the aesthetic sense, and at prices in keeping with the qualities dis-
played.
Great private collections of international scope and importance
have been comparatively few in any age, but they have all had two
things in common, quality and diversity. The man who acquires ten
mediocre objects because their individual prices are low, rather than
one outstanding piece, defeats the purpose of the true collector, en-
joyment of what he owns. The ten lesser items can yield him an emo-
tional and aesthetic return only in terms of that lesser quality; the
exceptional work of art will always be a joy. As for the material
aspects, I have never found it difficult to dispose of exceptional works;
it is the average item in a collection that takes time and effort, even at
a low price. The former sell themselves; the latter have to be sold.
264
Summing Up
Similarly, specialization is a pitfall avoided by the true collector.
Art is in essence universal, and to limit its scope, willfully or uncon-
sciously, is contrary to its very spirit. The more one delves into any
single aspect of civilization, the narrower one's outlook is apt to
become, with attention focusing more and more on the particular,
the details rather than the whole. Collecting then either follows the
line of least resistance, easy because it is familiar, or develops into an
obsessive ambition to be supreme in a narrow field. We collect for our
own enjoyment, but we should be sufficiently introspective to be sure
that it is enjoyment of an object and not a competition. Specialization
is also demonstrably detrimental from the investment point of view.
The one-line collector creates his own rise in price, as dealers vie with
one another to find what they know he will covet. Should he be faced
with the necessity of selling, he may create his own depression. An
avalanche of works of art of a single type on a restricted market
usually sends prices tumbling.
Quality and diversity, then, are the inescapable requisites of a
worthwhile collection, whether it is made for aesthetic satisfaction
or financial gain. And works of art are an investment. An astute
Frenchman once told me that he had divided his investments into
three equal parts — securities, real estate, and a well-diversified col-
lection of works of art. "If the last pays no tangible dividends, it gives
me an enjoyment for which dividends could not compensate, and it
is the investment about which I worry least. I know that if the value
of one painting goes down, another is surely going up." Henry Walters
claimed that within a number of years the government would have
paid for his collection in terms of the income tax he would have had
to pay on the return from a like amount invested in income-bearing
properties.
These observations on the economics of the art market are of im-
portance only as they reflect and validate larger truths. Despite the
catastrophes mankind brings on itself, art is a universal stimulus and
an index of culture which remains constant. Prehistoric drawings on
the walls of caves trace the aesthetic urge to roots deep in the prime-
val soul. Art in its infinite variations has served through the ages as
an exorcism of the fears, hatreds, and the hallucinations which haunt
our dreams. It expresses all the spiritual aspirations in man.
This constant longing for the spiritual values inherent in all forms
of aesthetic creation is today as alive as ever. The Westerner has been
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MERCHANTS OF ART
fascinated for years by the beauty and variety of Oriental art and
has attained some understanding of its significance. Before World
War II, Japanese private and public collectors had begun to take a
lively interest in Western painting, particularly the modern schools.
It raises the possibility of the great civilizations of Occident and
Orient, so opposed and uncomprehending, finding a common ground
under the aegis of art. Must mergers of great cultures take place only
by force of treaties imposed by statesmen, based on material con-
siderations of arms and economics? Is it not possible to conceive a
greater union of minds through art?
Art in all its forms has been historically the most enduring language
for the mingling of souls in common enjoyment, for that is one of its
paramount values — a joy to be shared by all who are willing to see
and to feel, a great international tongue by which men can speak and
be thrilled across the centuries and across the world.
266
NOTES ON THE INVENTORY OF THE WALLACE COLLECTION OF PARIS
The inventory which so fortunately was located is a copy of a legal docu-
ment of one hundred and five pages, dated February 16, 1912, "a Paris,
rue Laffite [sic] No. 2, dans un appartement ou residait Sir John Edward
Arthur [Jean Edouard Arthur] Murray-Scott. . . ." It was established
at the request of Douglas Alexander Scott (major general de I'armee
anglaise, en retraite, demeurant a Trusley Court Godalming, Surrey,
Angleterre) and Frederick William Capron, solicitor (demeurant a Lon-
dres), Savile Place No. 7 ". . . agissant en qualite d'executeurs testa-
mentaires, avec saisine, ainsi quits Vont declare dans la procuration ci-
dessus enoncee, de Sir John Edward Arthur Murray Scott, en son vivant,
sujet anglais Baronnet. . . ."
The inventory, which is also an appraisal, is divided as follows: the
library; the silver; racing trophies; table china, kitchen equipment, serv-
ants' furnishings, linens, carriages, and the wine cellar; ordinary house-
hold furnishings; the tapestries; the paintings, water colors, and drawings;
"Objets d'interet artistique, historique et national" (including sculpture,
furniture, decorative objects, and engravings); a detailing of the silver
already listed.
The library, which contained around three thousand volumes, is re-
vealing of the characters and tastes of its successive owners. Besides the
standard literary works both ancient and modern of a "gentleman's li-
brary," there was a wide range of historical works, memoires of the
18th century, Napoleonia, and books on every phase of artistic pro-
duction, many of them today rare items of primary source material.
Since the Seligmann firm did not deal in books, the entire library was
sold to the English bookseller Bumpus.
The table silver could have served a regiment and the wine cellar with
its one hundred and fifty bottles of Chateau Malescot, six hund/ed bot-
tles of Saint Emilion, and one hundred and sixty bottles of Mouton Roths-
child, to mention only a few, would make a gourmet sigh with envy. The
comparative paucity of table china and linens of all sorts — only three
sets of table linen are listed — attests to the years of bachelor status of
the house on the rue Laffitte. Likewise the "rolling stock" seems to have
267
NOTES ON THE WALLACE COLLECTION OF PARIS
fallen on bad days, for the Victoria is listed as hors d'usage and the other
three carriages as tres usages.
The Tapestries
Twelve tapestries hung in the grande galerie and another is listed as
stored there in a cupboard, while a set of four more were on loan to the
Musee des Arts Decoratifs. They were as follows:
Histoire de Psyche — after cartoons by Boucher. A set of five, Beauvais,
Louis XVI period. Now in the Philadelphia Mu-
seum as a bequest of Mrs. Hamilton Rice (for-
merly Mrs. George Widener).
Le Repas — after designs by Le Prince. One of the Jeux rus-
siens series, Beauvais, Louis XV period. Now in
the Metropolitan Museum of Art as gift of Mrs.
Oliver Gould Jennings in memory of Mr. Jen-
nings.
Four Beauvais panels — representing animals and birds in landscape back-
grounds. This is the set which was on loan to the
Musee des Arts Decoratifs and may have been
sold to Mr. George Kessler. Present whereabouts
unknown.
Chancellerie — or Arms of France, on red background. Gobelins,
18th century. Collection of Francois-Gerard Selig-
mann, Paris.
Arms of France — Gobelins, 18th century. Described as "Arms of
France supported by two female figures and
surmounted by two amours holding a crown."
Whereabouts unknown.
Arms of England — Brussels, 18th century. Whereabouts unknown.
La Terre — Set of three, Gobelins, 18th century. Wherea-
La Toilette de Flore bouts unknown.
Junon et Diane
Fleurs-de-lys — on blue ground. Gobelins, 18th century. Wherea-
bouts unknown.
The Paintings
Of the thirteen pages of paintings, watercolors, and drawings in the
inventory, it is possible today to list fifty-odd of which the present owner-
ship is known or at least to whom they passed from the Seligmann firm.
Fortunately, the majority of the important works are in this list. The last
collection named is the most recent.
268
Ballue, H.
Boilly, Louis
NOTES ON THE WALLACE COLLECTION OF PARIS
Six watercolors
Boucher, F.
La Jarretiere
Scene de carnaval or
Boulevard du Crime
La Danse des chiens
Le Vieillard jaloux
Poussez ferme
Birth and Triumph of
Venus
Jupiter and Callisto
Angelique et Medor
Diane et Endymion
Collection of Mr. and Mrs.
Germain Seligman.
Charles W. Clark (1921).
S.H. Golding(1925).
Mrs. George F. Baker, Jr.
(1929).
Alfred Lowenstein.
Messrs. Agnew & Sons
(1952).
Baron Eugene de Roths-
child.
Metropolitan Museum of
Art. Gift of Henry Wal-
ters and Germain Selig-
man.
Knoedler&Co. (1914).
Morton F. Plant.
Mrs. William Hayward.
Mrs. John E. Rovensky
Sale, Parke-Bernet, Jan.
15-19, 1957, Nos. 457-58.
Knoedler&Co. (1914).
W. R. Timken.
National Gallery of Art,
Washington, bequest of
Mrs. W. R. Timken.
La Musique or La Muse Knoedler & Co. ( 1914 ) .
Erato
Cupid and the Graces
W. R. Timken.
London Art market ( 1950) .
Knoedler&Co. (1914).
The Gulbenkian Collection,
on loan to National Gal-
lery of Art, Washington.
269
NOTES ON THE WALLACE COLLECTION OF PARIS
Boucher, F.
La Musique
Le Dessin
Portrait de jeune Femme
Jupiter and Callisto
Jupiter and Leda
(pastels)
Knoedler&Co. (1914).
The Frick Collection.
Albert Meyer.
Rene Fribourg.
Bruchner (or
Buckner )
David, J. L.
Femme a la Mantille
noir
Portrait of Napoleon I
Looted, Paris, 1940-44
from private collection of
Germain Seligman.
The Fogg Art Museum —
Grenville L. Winthrop
Collection.
Dumont, Francois
Carnet de bal de Marie-
Antoinette with por-
traits of the Queen,
the Comtesse d'Artois,
the Comtesse de Pro-
vence and their two
sons
Succession Arthur Veil-
Picard.
French, 18th cen-
tury
Les Bains chinois
Musee Carnavalet, Paris,
gift of Jacques Selig-
mann.
Guardi, Francesco La Campanile, Venice
Place St. Marc, Venice
Knoedler&Co. (1914).
Madame Soucaret, Paris.
Vue de la Place St. Marc
Vue de la Piazzetta
Count Moise de Camondo.
Mus^e Nissim de
Camondo, Paris.
Lancret, Nicolas
Set of demi-lune over-
doors:
Baigneuses
Concert champetre
Hallali End of the Hunt
Le Petit Dejeuner
Knoedler&Co. (1914).
Morton F. Plant.
M. H. de Young Museum,
San Francisco.
270
NOTES ON THE WALLACE COLLECTION OF PARIS
Laure, Jules Portrait of Lola Montez Looted, Paris, 1940-44,
enAmazone from private collection
of Germain Seligman
Lemoyne, Francois Leda et le cygne
Francois -Gerard Selig-
mann, Paris
*Mignard, Pierre
Nattier, J.-M.
Prud'hon, P.-P.
Raffet
Taunay
Tocque, Louis
Portrait dune Reine avec National Gallery, London,
son fils et cupidon by will of Sir John Mur-
ray Scott
Detroit Museum of Art
Baron Gourgaud, Paris
Looted, Paris, 1940-44.
Clarence H. Geist, Phila-
delphia
Madame Henriette de
France en vestale
Academie de femme
Academie d'homme
( drawings )
La Retraite
Scene de chasse
Bergers a la ruine
Portrait du due de Char- Germain Seligman
tres
Van Loo, Amadee La Declaration
La Rupture
Sold in Paris, 1925.
Whereabouts unknown.
Vernet, Carle
'Vernet, Horace
Vestier, Antoine
Le Poulain ( watercolor ) Looted, Paris, 1940-44
from collection of Ger-
main Seligman
Chevaux dans la prairie Collection of Mr. and Mrs.
Germain Seligman
The Battle of Hanau National Gallery, London,
The Battle of Montmirail by will of Sir John Mur-
The Battle of Valmy ray Scott
The Battle of Jemmapes
Mile Duthe at the bath Arthur Veil-Picard, Paris
271
NOTES ON THE WALLACE COLLECTION OF PARIS
* Watteau ( attr. ) V Accord parfait National Gallery, London,
by will of Sir John Mur-
ray Scott
* These paintings are listed on the inventory as "les tableaux . . . qui
seraient legues a la National Gallery de Londres," but according to the
public press, the will of John Murray Scott had not been found at the
time of the taking of the inventory. Both the Watteau and the Mignard
are listed in the catalogue of French paintings (1950) of the National
Gallery, the latter as La Marquise de Seignelay and two of her children.
Among the more interesting paintings of which all trace has been lost
are the following:
Boilly, Louis VEtreinte ( Possibly La douce Resistance mentioned by
Harisse, No. 172, as "Wallace Collection, Paris")
La Marche incroyable
Les Galants surpris
Villageois dans un interior jouant avec un oiseau
Boucher, F. Pastorale — gouache, oval
La Cible des amours
Lami, Eugene Le Bal de VOpera
Others by Moreau, Schall, Le Prince, Baron Gerard, Gavarni, the
Vernets, Isabey, Hondecoeter, Courbet, quantities of drawings without
names or by many lesser known artists, make up the balance.
Not appearing on the inventory, but reproduced in the Connoisseur of
May, 1914, as "in the Sir John Murray Scott Collection in Paris" is a curi-
ous full-length portrait purportedly representing Louis XI. The notice
continues :
"It hung formerly in the Palais Royal . . . the artist's name has been
lost sight of, but that it is an authentic contemporary portrait of the cruel
king is undisputed. During the revolution of 1848 one of the mob shot
a bullet through the region where the heart is popularly supposed to
exist in the human body as evidence of his protest against kings. The
damage has since been repaired and in the general distribution of State
possessions the portrait eventually passed into the hands of Lord Hertford
and so to Sir John Murray Scott."
From the reproduction it seems doubtful that it is a 15th century orig-
inal, but it may well be one of the 17th century copies of historic portraits
which are known to have hung in the Palais Royal. Its whereabouts has
not been discovered.
272
NOTES ON THE WALLACE COLLECTION OF PARIS
The Sculpture
All the sculpture is listed under the heading of Objets d'interet artis-
tique, historique, et national and the following pieces can be placed more
or less definitely:
Bouchardon, Edme
Clodion
Coysevox, Antoine
Girardon, F.
Houdon, J.-A.
Lemoyne, J.-B.
Pigalle
Ruusseau
French,
18th century
Amour taillant son arc
dans la massue d'Her-
cule — marble
Satyresse tenant deux
enfants — terra cotta
Louis XIV ( now known
as Le Grand Dauphin
— marble
Le due d'Orleans — mar-
ble
Louis XIV a cheval —
bronze
Portrait of Cagliostro —
marble
Portrait of Sophie Ar-
nould — marble
La Frileuse — bronze
Seated Voltaire — marble
maquette
Baigneuse debout — mar-
ble. Presumed portrait
of Madame de Pompa-
dour.
Cupid — bronze
Ulysse bendant son arc
Louis XV a cheval —
bronze
Two groups of children
— bronze dore
Pair of bust portraits of
women — bronze
Lord Wimborne.
Mortimer Schiff.
Samuel H. Kress Collec-
tion, National Gallery,
Washington.
The Walters Gallery, Bal-
timore
The Samuel H. Kress Col-
) lection, National Gallery,
Washington
Looted, 1940-44, from the
Seligmann home in Paris
The Samuel H. Kress Col-
lection, National Gallery,
Washington
Musee du Louvre, gift of
Edgar Stern, 1947
Mrs. H. P. Davison, New
York
Mortimer L. Schifl Collec-
tion until 1938
Formerly collection of
Baron Edmond de Roth-
schild
The Walters Gallery,
Baltimore
The Corcoran Art Gallery
Washington, gift of Sena-
tor W. A. Clark
Fernand Javal, Paris
George Blumenthal
The Walters Collection,
Baltimore
273
NOTES ON THE WALLACE COLLECTION OF PARIS
Again a number of items remain untraced, among them a marble bust
of la Dubarry after Pajou, a bather in white marble by Falconet, and a
marble bust portrait of a man in armor of the style of Louis XVI. This
last item is possibly of little interest, as many statues of largely decorative
character had been used in the garden at Bagatelle and this may be one
of those, as it is listed as having been stored in the carriage house.
The Furniture and Ornamental Objects
The furniture and ornamental objects which filled the house to over-
flowing are, of course, the most difficult to trace, for such works of art
are not as carefully recorded as are paintings and sculpture. The task is
further complicated, as pointed out earlier, by the fact that many other
items which bear the Wallace pedigree reached the market through the
various sales of Sir John Murray Scott's English holdings and thus did not
pass through the hands of Jacques Seligmann. Lacking the Paris records
of the firm, it becomes somewhat too great a task for the confines of this
book to try to determine the fate of all the lovely pieces which once
adorned the Chateau de Bagatelle and No. 2 rue Laffitte.
Nor does it seem necessary to attempt to describe again the appearance
of the rooms, as the several articles and books cited give a very good
picture of them. Suffice it here to note certain important pieces which
are today in museums, or well-known collections, or have appeared in
recent public sales.
Musee Nissim de Camondo, Paris
An extraordinarily fine ameublement de salon by Georges Jacob, ca.
1785. Of carved and gilded wood, covered in Beauvais tapestry on
green background, the set consists of two canapes, a marquise, ten
chairs, and a fire screen.
A pair of four-fold tapestry screens, Beauvais, ca. 1750-60
Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York
A monumental bureau a cylindre, late Louis XVI, style of Guillaume
Beneman, also referred to as the bureau du roi. Presented in 1919 by
Jacques Seligmann with a plaque bearing the following inscription:
"In memory of Mr. J. P. Morgan and as a souvenir of the help which
the Americans have given in France during the war."
The Frick Collection, New York
Among a number of items, the most important are:
A Louis XVI table by Riesener with bronzes attributed to Gouthiere
274
NOTES ON THE WALLACE COLLECTION OF PARIS
A pair of rare Louis XVI consoles ornamented with Mustapha medallions
A pair of lacquer etageres, Louis XVI
A pair of gilt-bronze flambeaux, Louis XVI
A Louis XVI gilt-bronze pendule
Miss Helen Frick, New York
A Louis XVI secretary, table de chevet, and a table de malade
The Cleveland Museum of Art
A Louis XVI bed attributed to Georges Jacob, with original Philippe
de Lasalle embroidered satin upholstery and covers. Said to have be-
longed to Marie Antoinette. Formerly in the collection of Arthur Veil-
Picard, Paris.
A pair of bronze dore candelabra, signed by Clodion. Grace Rainey
Rogers Collection.
A Louis XV desk. John L. Severance Collection.
The William Rockhill Nelson Gallery of Art, Kansas City
A pair of monumental red porphyry urns, French, 17th century, orna-
mented with ormulu and mounted on matching column bases
The George Blumenthal Collection
Contained at least seven items:
Two fine Louis XVI table-desks, one signed by Montigny
Six Jacob chairs, gilded and upholstered in tapestry
An Empire bronze and red marble gueridon
A rare Louis XVI mahogany and bronze music stand
Two pairs of Louis XVI bronze dore flambeaux
Mrs. F. Gray Griswold, New York
A Falconet clock, ca. 1775 ( Lepautre )
Private Collection, London
Empire secretary in Thuya wood
Empire meuble d'entre-deux in Thuya wood
The late Alfred Lowenstein of Brussels
A rare Louis XVI salon set, canape and eight chairs, with Beauvais
tapestries after designs by Francois Casanova
275
NOTES ON THE WALLACE COLLECTION OF PARIS
Mrs. George Rasmussen, New York
An 18th century carved and gilded wood mirror frame with a crest of
the arms of France surmounted by a crown and the Order of the Saint
Esprit
The late George Rasmussen, Chicago
Louis XV upright desk in bois de rose and marquetry
Console by Riesener with green marble top
Louis XVI meuble d'entre-deux with flanking etageres attributed to
Pafrat
A Louis XV chaise longue upholstered with Beauvais tapestry in floral
pattern on rose background. One of the finest pieces in the Wallace
collection.
The Mortimer L. Schiff Collection
A Louis XVI console ornamented with Sevres plaques
Frangois-Gerard Seligmann, Paris
A pair of Louis XVI green marble vases ornamented with female heads
in bronze dore
A pair of Louis XV microscopes varies mounted in bronze dore
Arthur Veil-Picard Collection, Paris
Regence ormolu and blue enamel luster of rare and exquisite quality.
Recently presented to the Louvre, Paris.
A pair of superb Riesener commodes
A bureau de dame and several small tables, all French 18th century
The Henry Walters Collection
A number of decorative items and a notable bureau a cylindre and
commode of the Louis XVI period
Mr. and Mrs. Charles B. Wrightsman, New York
Commode, French, 18th century, style of Cressent.
Bureau-plat, French, 18th century, style of Cressent.
Gilt-wood screen, French, Louis XVI, by Georges Jacob, originally
made for Marie Antoinette and coming from the Chateau de Saint-
Cloud. Formerly in the Dutasta Collection, Paris.
276
NOTES ON THE WALLACE COLLECTION OF PARIS
Collection of the author
A pair of late 18th century gilt bronze and silver candlesticks represent-
ing amours riding on crocodiles
In addition, a number of items which had been retained by the Selig-
mann family were lost by looting in the late war, including a handsome
Louis XVI clock, a pair of Empire gilt bronze candelabra, and a fine
Louis XVI bergere upholstered in Beauvais tapestry of Boucher sub-
ject.
A number of pieces which are either signed, or attributed on good
authority to a particular cabinet maker, have not been traced. Conspicu-
ous among them is an upright Louis XVI desk attributed to Saunier, a
table by Carlin, a secretary by BVRB, a lacquer cabinet by Cramer, and
a table-desk by Dubois.
277
INDEX
Abernon, Lord d\ 11, 127, PI. 30b
Aboucaya, Robert, 26-27
Adams, Frederick B., vii, 242
Agnew, Thomas & Sons, 74, 76, 269
Alexander of Yugoslavia, 185
Alexander the Great, portrait of,
205, PI. 59
Alexandre, Arsene, 71
Alfonso XIII, King of Spain, 47
Allen, Frederick Lewis, 23
Altman, Benjamin, 19, 98, 119
Altman Collection, 220
Amaury-Duval, 188
Andre, Edouard, 12
Andre, Mme. Nelie Jacquemart-, 12
Anhalt-Dessau, Princes of, 210, PL
50b
Anliker, Roger, 236
Arco-Zinneberg, Count, 69, PI. 10b
Arenberg Collection, 241-45, Ph.
106a,b, 107, 109
Arensberg, Walter, 153, 220
Armainvilliers, Chateau de, 55
Armor, 214-17, PI. 83
Armour, J. Ogden, 89
Arnould, Sophie, 92, 101, 187, 250,
PI. 24
Artois, Comte d', 93, 94, 107
Astor, John Jacob, 219
Auspitz, Stefan von, 200
Auriti, C, PI. 114
Aynard, Edouard, 12
Bache, Jules, 47, 85-86, 111
Bache Collection, 220
Bagatelle, Chateau de, 92-95, 97,
196
Baker, Mrs. George F., Jr., 269
Baker Fund, 220
Ballue, H., 269
Baltimore, Museum of Art, 202
Baltimore, Walters Gallery, 121,
132-34, Ph. 37, 38, 39a, 39b, 42a
Barbet of Lyon, Jehan, 71, PI. 15
Barcelona Museum, 199, Pis. 43, 52
Bardac, Joseph, 13
Bardac, Noel, 13
Bardac, Sigismond, 13, 22, 74, 123,
Ph. 4, 40b
Barnes, Dr. Albert C, 153
Barney, James W., PI. 124
Baron, Stanislas, 74
Barrere, Camille, PI. 125
Barthou, Louis, 185
Bartlett, Frederic Clay, 153
Bartlett Collection, 89
Baruch, Bernard, 100
Basin, Thomas, Bishop of Lisieux,
69, PI. 10a
Baudouin, Pierre- Antoine, 53
Bayer, Edwin S., Ill
Beatty, Mrs. A. Chester, 200
Beatty, Sir Chester, 200
Beistegui, Carlos de, PI. 79
Belanger, Francois-Joseph, 93
Bellini, Giovanni, 85, 157
Bellevue, Chateau de, 53
Benda Collection, 200
Benedetto da Maiano, 256, PI. 115
Beneman, Guillaume, 274
279
INDEX
Berain, Jean, Ier, 164, PI. 29
Berenson, Bernard, 126-27, 210-11
Berlin, Kaiser Friedrich Museum,
122, 124, 209, 224, PI. 26
Berthelot, Philippe, 113, 114-16,
170, 173, 174, 185
Bertier de Sauvigny, Count Louis,
206
Bertos, 110
Berwick and Alba, Dukes of, 46,
145
Biebel, Franklin M., vii
Biron, Chateau de, 39, 70-71, PI. 13
Biron, Marquis de, 38-40, 241
Bismarck, 51, 95, 124
Blackstone, Mrs. Timothy B., 89
Blaikie, Thomas, 93
Blake, William, 149
Blanchet de Rives, Paul, 202, PI 48
Bliss, Lillie P., 153, 154
Block, Leigh B., Ph. 94b, 95
Blodgett, William Tilden, 199, 219,
Pis. 23a, 52
Blum, Andre, viii
Blumenthal, Florence, 83, 89, 142-
45
Blumenthal, George, 38, 47, 83, 120,
142-47, 212, Pis. 11a, 35a, 36, 40a,
40b, 41a
Blumenthal Collection, 220, 275, PI.
35b
Bode, Wilhelm von, 122, 124, 126,
223-24, 251, 258
Bodmer, Martin, 242-43, Pis. 106a,b
Bodmer Library. See Geneva, Bod-
mer Library
Boilly, Louis-Leopold, 56, 163, 184-
85, 269, 272
Bonaparte, Lucien, Pis. 44, 108
Bonington, Richard, 149, 237
Bonino da Campione, 257, Pi. 122
Bonger, Mme. Andre, Pis. 118a,b
Bonnard, Pierre, 41, 156, 178-79, Pi.
62a
Borger Collection, 121, PI 37
Boscoreale Treasure ( Louvre ) , 58
Boston Museum of Fine Arts, 188,
197, 216, 220, Pis. 65, 82, 98
Botkine, M. P., 65-67
Bouchardon, 100, 101, 273, PI. 20
Boucher, Francois, 12, 14, 57, 101,
134, 135, 140, 141, 175, 185, 268,
269, 270, 272, Pis. 22b, 23b
Boucicaut, Master of, 243
Boudin, Eugene, 154, 157
Bourgogne, Marie de, portrait of,
121
Bouruet-Aubertot Collection, PL
46a
Boy Collection, 74
Braikenridge Collection, 74
Braque, Georges, 154, 155, 180, Ph.
70a, 70b
Briere, Mr. and Mrs. Gaston, viii
Brimborion, Chateau de, 93
Brongniard, Alexandre-Theodore,
30
Brongniard children, 13, 225, Pis.
21a,b
Bronzes, 14, 24, 110, 251-52, Pis. 2a,
2b, 15, 42a, 42b, 55, 75a, 75b, 82
Brooklyn Museum, 156
Bruchner, 270
Brussels, Musees Royaux, 198, 218,
PI. 30a
Buckingham, Kate S., 89, PI. 25
Buenos Aires Museum, PI. 76a
Buffalo, Albright Gallery, 90, PI.
100
Biihrle, Emil, 245-47, Pis. 46a, 64a,
71b, 96a, 103, 108, 118a, 119, 121b
Biihrle, Mrs. Emil, 247
Burckhardt, Jacob, 124
Burgundy, Dukes of, 216, PI. 84
280
INDEX
Burns, Walter, 11
Burrell, Lady, 202
Burrell, Sir William, 200-1, 202-3,
PI. 48
BVRB (furniture maker), 277
Caffieri, 15
Cailleux, Paul, PI. 23b
Cambo, Francisco, 199, PI 52
Cambridge, Fogg Museum, 148,
207, 238, Pis. 44, 45a, 46b, 47, 91
Camondo, Count Isaac de, 27, 152,
155
Camondo, Count Moise de, 14-15,
270
Camondo, Musee Nissim de. See
Paris, Musee Nissim de Camondo
Carlin, Martin, 101, 277
Carnegie, Andrew, 91
Casanova, Francois, 14, 101, 162,
206, 275, PI. 49
Cassatt, Mary, 21, 153
Castagno, Andrea dal, 225
Castellane, Marechal de, 31
Castellane, Marquis de, 36-38, 39,
40, 195
Castiglioni, Camillo, 200
Cecil, Robert, viii, 98, 101-2
Cellini, Benvenuto, 252, 253, PI. 55
Cezanne, 141, 151, 152, 154, 155,
157, 178, 245, 247, 263, PI. 67
Chaalis, Chateau de, 12
Chadbourne, William, PI. 45b
Chalendon, Georges, 12, 123, 194
Champaigne, Philippe de, 200, 218,
PI. 110
Chandon de Briailles, 74
Chardin, 56
Charles V, Emperor, 113, 114, 241
Charles VII, King of France, 22, PI.
4
Charles X, King of France, 93
Charras Collection, PI. 3
Chasseriau, Theodore, 149, 187, PI.
46b
Chevallier, Maitre Paul, 1, 2, 14
Chicago, Art Institute of, 88-89,
220, Pis. 25, 71a, 94b, 120
Chimay, Prince and Princesse de,
93
Choquet, Portrait of, PI. 47
Chtchoukine, Madame, 174
Chtchoukine Collection, 172
Cima da Conegliano, 127, 145, PL
30b
Cincinnati Art Museum, PI. 49
Cincinnati, Taft Museum, 90
Clark, Charles W., 269
Clark, W. A, 47, 110-11, 273
Clermont-Tonnerre family, 107
Cleveland Museum of Art, 107, 216,
220-22, 275, Pis. 69, 76b, 81, 84,
85, 92, 93, 99, 125
Clodion, 15, 110, 139, 250, 273, 275
Clouet, 203, 208
Coburn, Mrs. Lewis L., 89
Coburn Collection, 89
Cochran, Gifford, Pis. 50b, 61
Coecke van Aelst, Pieter, 114
Colombe, Michel, 70, PI 13
Compiegne, Chateau de, 10
Constable, W. C, 23
Cook, Sir Frederick, PI. 98
Cooper Union Institute, 80-82
Corneille de Lyon, 145
Corot, PI. Ill
Coty, Francois, 164-65, PI 29
Courbet, Gustave, 154, 196-97, 233,
245, 272, Pis. 90, 116
Court, Suzanne de, Pi. 39a
Courtauld, Samuel, 218, PI 63
Courtauld Institute. See London,
Courtauld Institute
281
INDEX
Coysevox, Antoine, 101, 139, 273,
Ph. 2a, 16
Cramer, 277
Cranach, Lucas, 224, PI. 61
Cressent, 276
Cristof ano da Bracciano, 143
CriveUi, 120
Crozat Collection, PI. 51a
Cuevas, Marquis de, 231-32, 233
Czernin, Count Johann Rudolf, 244
Dana, William, 21
Daumier, 151, 153, 179, Pis. 71a,
71b
David, Gerard, 120
David, Jacques Louis, 149, 157, 194,
219, 226, 270, Ph. 45a, 79
David-Weill, David, 62, 139-42,
212, Ph. 1,2a, 3
David-Weill, Jean, 142
David-Weill, Pierre, 142
Davis, London art firm, 38
Davison, Henry P., Ill
Davison, Mrs. Henry P., 273
Davout, Marechal, 31
Dearth, Henry Golden, 21
Dechenaud, A., PI. 35a
Decloux Library, 81
Deering Collection, 89
Degas, Edgar, 120, 141, 151, 154,
155, 207, 222, 225, 247, 250, Ph.
72, 75a, 76a, 76b, 119
De Hauke, Cesar M., 156
De Hauke & Company, 156, 178
Delacroix, Eugene, 149, 153, 157,
196, 233, Ph. 46a, 117
Delaune, Etienne, 114
Demidoff Collection, PI. 46a
Denver Art Museum, PI. 104b
Desiderio da Settignano, 71, PI. 14
d'Estrees, Madame la Marechale,
93
de Sylva, George Garde, PI. 74b
Detroit Institute of Arts, 210, 223,
258, 271, PI. 54
de Wolfe, Elsie, 102
Djumati, Monastery of, 66, Ph.
8a-d
Diane de Poitiers, 57, 70
Diessen, Monastery church of, PI.
85
Dimier, Louis, 203-5
Doistau, Felix, PI. 102
Dollfus, Jean, 45, 46, 120
Donatello, 85, 122, 124, 250, 262-63
Doria, Countess, 59
Dormeuil, Georges, 123, 194
Dossena, Alceo, 250-51
Doucet, Jacques, 45, 56, 120, 141,
151-52, 179-80, Ph. 68, 70a, 71a
Doumergue, Gaston, 186
Dover House, 74
Dreier, Katherine, 153
Drey, A. S., 25
Drey, Francis, 25
Dreyfus, Carle, viii, 26-27
Dreyfus, Gustave, 13, 27, 136, 200
Drouais, F. H., 56
Drouot, Hotel, 1-2, 28
Drucker, Herr, 160-62
du Barry, Madame, 53, 164, 274
Dubois, Louis Cardinal, 147
Dufy, Raoul, PI. 96b
Dugourc, Jean, 107, 212
Duke, Mrs. B. N., Ill
Dumont, Francois, 107, 270
Dunand, Jean, 181
Durand-Ruel, 18, 131, 154
Diirer, Albrecht, 237
Dutasta Collection, 276
Dutuit brothers, 12
Duval Collection, PI. 46a
Duveen, Sir Joseph, 100
Duveen Brothers, 18, 38, 121
282
INDEX
Edgell, Dr. Harold, 197
Ehrman Collection, 202
Ellis, Theodore T., PI. 56
Emerson, Guy, 227-28
Enamels, 14, 19, 27, 57, 65-68, 69,
70, 72, 74, 90, 125, 137, 148, 226,
Ph. 8a-d, 39a, 40a
Epstein, Jacob, 201-2
Esnault-Pelterie Collection, PI 71b
Essen, Folkwang Museum, PL 33
Esterhazy Collection, PI. 39b
Etruscan cist, 70, PI. 7
Eugenie, Empress, 94, 137
Exhibitions (other than at Jacques
Seligmann Galleries), 96, 114,
120, 140, 154-55, 230, 231-33,
244, 252, 255
Exhibitions (at Jacques Seligmann
Galleries), 47, 79, 147, 178-79,
180-81, 182-83, 184-86, 187-88,
205, 236-37
Fajardo, Don Pedro, 84
Falconet, Etienne, 15, 139, 274, 275
Falke, Otto von, 124
Feder, Joseph, 38
Faure Collection, Pis. 46a, 117
Feist, Mrs. Hermine, 10
Ferrieres, Chateau de, 51
Fesch, Cardinal, PI 110
Field, Marshall, PI. 71a
Fieschi family, 70
Fitzhenry, J. H., 19
Flandrin, Hippolyte, 188
Fletcher Fund, 220
Flora bust, 122
Foch, Marshall, 185
Fogg Museum. See Cambridge,
Fogg Museum
Folchino degli Schizzi, Tomb of,
257
Fontainebleau, Chateau de, 10
Fontette, Fevret de, 204, PI. 50a
Forrer, Robert, 250
Foullon, Mile., 206
Fragonard, 14, 16, 53, 54, 57, 76, 86,
107, 108, 110, 120, 139, 141, 157,
162, 163, 186, 195, 206, 211, 245,
Ph. 3, 33, 51b, 53, 56, 102
Francheville, Pierre de, 143
Francis, Henry S., 222
Francois Ier, 58
Frankfurt, Staedelinstitut, 197
Frederic the Great, 112
Frederick, Empress, 133, PI. 42a
Frias, Dukes of, 145, PI. 36
Fribourg, Rene, 270
Frick, Helen, 275
Frick, Henry Clay, 102-3, 111, 119,
Ph. 18a,b
Frick Collection. See New York,
Frick Collection
Friedlander, Max, 208, 209, 210
Friedsam Collection, 220
Frieseke, Frederick Carl, 21
Fuller, Gilbert, PI. 77
Furniture, 14, 53, 101, 107, 177, 181,
226, 274-77, Ph. 18a,b, 19
Gaertner, Peter, 210, PI. 50b
Gainsborough, 57
Gallatin, A. E., 153, 220, PI. 74a
Ganay, Marquise de, 47
Ganz, Paul, 209
Gardner, Albert Ten Eyck, vii
Gardner, Elizabeth, vii
Gardner, Isabella, 83, 126
Gauguin, Paul, 154, Ph. 66a, 66b
Gavarni, 272
Gay, Victor, 12
Geist, Clarence H., 271
Gellert family, 164
Geneva, Bodmer Library, 243, Ph.
106a,b
283
INDEX
Geoffrin, Madame, 108
Gerard, Baron, 272
Gericault, Theodore, 153, 237
German baptismal font, 216, PI. 82
Ghiberti, Vittorio, 212
Gibran, Kahlil, 236, PI. 112
Gillet, Claude, 85
Gimpel & Wildenstein, 19
Giotto, PI. 88
Girardon, Francois, 273
Giovanni da Bologna, 14, 111, 251,
PI. 114
Girodet-Trioson, 188
Glaenzer, Eugene, 79-80, 119, 120,
129, 205, 214
Glasgow Art Gallery, 203, PI. 48
Goering, Hermann, 215, 234, 235
Goes, Hugo van der, 121, PI 37
Golding, S. H., 269
Goldman, Henry, PI. 27
Goldschmidt, Adolph, 125
Goldschmidt Collection, 108
Goldsmith work, 9, 16, 19, 52, 56,
57, 69, 74, 86, 140, 181, 187, Pis.
6, 9a, 9b, 10a, 10b, 38
Gontaut, Armand de, 38, PI 13
Gontaut, Pons de, 38, PI. 13
Goodnough, Robert, 236
Goujon, Jean, 254
Gould, Anna, 37
Goupil & Co., 18
Gouraud, General, 185
Gourdain, Michel, 212
Gourgaud, Baron, 271
Gouthiere, 15, 274
Goya, 53, 56, 57, 120, PI. 81
Grafton Gallery, 155
Gramat, General, 111
Gramont, Marquis de, PI. 117
Grancsay, Stephen V., 215
Granet, Francois-Marius, 188
Graphic arts, 57, 58, 81
Gray, Cleve, 237
Greber, Jacques, 85, 214
Greco, El, 145, 225, 261
Greene, Belle, 72, 82, 125
Greffulhe, Comtesse, 46
Gris, Juan, 183, PL 94b
Griswold, Mrs. F. Gray, 275
Gros, Baron Antoine-Jean, 194
Groult, Camille, 195-96
Groult, Jean, 195-96
Gruen, Victor, 236
Guardi, 40, 56
Guardi, Francesco, 270, PI. 57
Guelph Treasure, 194
Guggenheim, Daniel, 38
Guglielmi, Louis, 183
Guiffrey, Jean, 188-89
Guiffrey, Jules-Joseph, 188
Guilhou Collection, 74
Guillebert de Metz, 243
Gulbenkian Collection, 56, 269, PI.
22b
Gunzburg, Baron R. de, PI. 101
Hague, The, Mauritshuis, 244
Hals, Frans, 56, 57, 124
Hanna, Leonard C, Jr., 221-23, Ph.
76b, 92, 121a
Hapsburg Collection, 69, 112, 113
Harcourt, Marquis d', PI. 56
Harkness Collection, 219
Harriman, E. H., 79, 156
Harriman, Governor and Mrs. W.
Averell, PI. 94a
Harrsen, Meta, 242
Hartford, Wadsworth Atheneum,
74,75
Haussmann, Baron, 97
Havemeyer, Mrs. H. O., 153, 154
Havemeyer Collection, 220
Hayes, Patrick Cardinal, 147
284
INDEX
Hayward, Mrs. William, 269
Hearn Fund, 220
Hearst, William Randolph, 86-87
Heckel, 247
Helft, Jacques, 17
Helft, Leon, 17
Henri II of France, 57, 208, 217, PI.
83
Henri III of France, 204, 205
Henschel, Charles, 232
Hermitage Museum. See Lenin-
grad, Hermitage Museum
Herrick, Myron T., 182
Herriot, Edouard, 185
Hertford, Third Marchioness, 95
Hertford, Third Marquess, 94, 95
Hertford, Fourth Marquess. See
Seymour, Richard
Herz, Salomon, 25, 76
Hesse-Darmstadt Collections, 194
Hewitt, Eleanor, 80-81
Hewitt, Erskine, 80
Hewitt, Sarah, 80-81
Hill, J. Jerome, PI. 97
Hirsch, Baron de, 164, PI. 29
Hitler, Adolf, 163, 197, 210, 215, 234
Hobby, Theodore Y., vii
Hoentschel, Georges, 46, 71, 72-74,
76, PI. 15
Hofburg Palace, Vienna, 112, 113
Hoffmann, Joseph, 198
Hohenzollern family, 112
Holbein the Younger, Hans, 208-9,
210, PI. 54
Holbrook, Stewart H., 91
Holl, Frank, PI. 5
Homberg Collection, 134
Hondecoeter, 272
Honnorat, Andre, 141
Hooch, Pieter de, 261
Hope, William, 31
Houdon, 13, 92, 98, 100, 101, 107,
111, 139, 187, 225, 250, 255, 273,
Pis. 1, 21a,b, 24
Houston Museum of Fine Arts, 205,
212
Howell, Mrs. Henry W., Jr., viii
Huldschinsky, Oscar, 11, 13, 200,
PL 41b
Hunter, Sam, 236
Huntington, Arabella, 24, 83, 138-
39
Huntington, Archer, 85
Huntington, Collis P., 138
Huntington, Henry E., Ill, 138
Huntington Library, 138
Hutchinson Collection, 89
Imbert ( Rome art firm ) , 74
Import Antique Company, 175
Ingres, 57, 149, 157, 187, 218, 228,
245, Ph. 44, 78, 80, 103, 108
Innocent IV, Pope, 70
Isabey, 272
Isenbrandt, Adriaen, 120
Ivories, 14, 46, 70, 74, Pis. 11a, lib
Jackson, Agnes, 95
Jackson, Harry, 236
Jackson, Richard. See Wallace,
Richard
Jacob, Georges, 107, 274, 275, 276
Jacquemart-Andre Museum. See
Paris, Musee Jacquemart-Andre
Jamot, Paul, 188
Jaucourt, Marquise de, 139, PI. 1
Javal, Fernand, 273
Jewelry, PI. 39b
Johnson, John G., Collection, 220
Johnston, John Taylor, 219
Jones, Sadie Green, 132, 134
Joos van Gent, 127, 145, PI. 36
Kahn, Otto H., 25, 38
Kahn, Peter, 236
285
INDEX
Kahn, Wolf, 236
Kahnweiler, Daniel-Henry, 154
Kann, Alphonse, 40-41
Kann, Edouard, 40
Kann, Rodolphe, PI. 104b
Kansas City, Nelson Gallery, 224,
248-49, 254, 275, Pis. 89, 101
Kapferer, Marcel, PI. 97
Kessler, George, 84, 164, 268
Kessler, Mrs. George, 84
Kienbusch, Otto von, 215
Klosterneuberg, Abbey of, 69, PI. 9a
Knoedler, Michel, 18
Knoedler, Roland, 121
Knoedler & Company, 176, 232, 269,
270, Ph. 22a,b
Knole House, 46-47, 72, 77, 98, 99
Kobler, A. J., 87, PI. 28
Kraemer, Eugene, 38, 254, PI. 101
Kraft, Arthur, 236
Kress, Rush H., 227
Kress, Samuel H., 225, 226, 227
Kress Foundation, 101, 211, 216,
220, 226-29, 257, 273, Pis. 16, 20,
27, 28, 86, 87, 102, 104b, 105, 114,
115, 122, 123, 126
Kreuger, Ivar, 162
Kulmbach, Hans von, PI. 104a
Laffan, William M., 21-22
La Fresnaye, Roger de, Pis. 95, 97
Lalique, 181
Lami, Eugene, 51, 272
La Muette, Chateau de, 93
Lancret, Nicolas, 101, 270, PI. 22a
Lanna, A. von, 45
LaSalle, Philippe de, 107, 275
LaTour, Maurice Quentin de, 56,
57, 106, 195, 199, PI. 52
Laufman, Sidney, 183
Laure, Jules, 271
Lavreince, Nicolas, 53, 106, 107
Lawrence, Sir Thomas, PI. 45b
Lazaro de Galanda, Jose, 198-99
Le Breton, Gaston, 72, 123, Ph.
12a,b
Lebrun, Albert, 188
Lebrun, Rico, 236-37, PI. 113
Lederer, August, 253, PI. 55
Lederer, Eric, 253
Leger, Fernand, 183, 236
Legrain, Pierre, 152, 181
Lehman, Philip, 47, 121
Lehman, Robert, 47, 121
Leleu, 181
Lemoyne, Francois, 101, 271
Lemoyne, J.-B., 100, 101, 273
Le Nain Brothers, 188
Leningrad, Hermitage Museum,
169, 174, 175
Leonardo da Vinci, 237
Leoni, Leone, 71, 110, 251, PI. 2b
Leoni, Pompeo, 251, PI. 100
Leonino, Baron, PI. 51b
Lepautre, 275
Le Prince, Jean-Baptiste, 101, 268,
272
LeRoy, Martin, 27
Leroy de Senneville Collection, PI.
3
Levi, Julian, 183
Levy, Mrs. David M., PI. 72
Leylan, Robert, 156
Libbey, Edward Drummond, 223
Lichtenthal, Convent of, 69, Pi. 10b
Liechtenstein Collection, 256-57,
Pis. 115, 122, 123
Limousin, Leonard, 57
Lindemann, Charles L., PI. 116
Lippmann Collection, 45, 120
Lombardi, Antonio, 253
Lombardi, Pietro, 253
Lombardi, Tullio, 13, 253, Pis. 41a,
41b
286
INDEX
London, Courtauld Institute, 218,
PL 63
London, National Gallery, 218, Pis.
78, 110
London, Victoria and Albert Mu-
seum, 74, 199, 200, PL 127
Lorrain, Claude, 200
Louis, Victor, 206
Louis XIII, King of France, PI. 83
Louis XIV, King of France, 164
Louis XV, King of France, 93, 204
Louis XVI, King of France, 93, 206,
Pis. 19, 49
Louis-Philippe, King of France, 50,
51, 94, 101, PI 98
Louveciennes, Pavilion of, 53, 164
Louvre, Ecole du, xiv, 26, 142
Lowenstein, Alfred, 162, 269, 275
Lucay, Marquis de, PL 51b
Lude, Chateau du, 71, PL 15
Lugt, Frits, xiii
Lyautey, Marechal, 185
Lydig, Rita, 45, 79
Mabuse, 224
Mackay, Clarence H., 110, 121, 148,
214, 262, Pis. 82, 83, 84
Mackay, John W., 214
Magnasco, Alessandro, 196
Magniac Collection, PL 38
Majolica, 14, 21, 25, 34-35, 57, 70,
72, 86, 111, 144, PL 40b
Maler, Hans, 121
Manessmann brothers, 78
Manet, Edouard, 41, 47, 151, 152,
154, 155, 156, 225
Mannheim, Maitre Charles, 2, 14
Mannheimer, Fritz, 159-62
Mantegna, Andrea, 148, 210-11,
214, 225, 237, PL 105
Manuscripts and books, 12, 71, 76,
81, 82, 200, 242-43, Pis. 106a,b,
107
Marie Antoinette, 94, 107, 275, 276
Marin, Joseph-Charles, 250
Marinot, Maurice, 181
Marly-le-Roi, Chateau de, PL 22a
Marmontel Collection, PL 46a
Marquet de Vasselot, J. J., 26, 27
Marshall, George C, 118
Master of the Mascoli Altar, 257
Master of the Saint Barbara Leg-
end, PL 30a
Master of Soriguerola, PL 43
Master of the Virgin among Vir-
gins, PL 26
Matisse, Henri, 154, 155, 156, PL
96a
McCormick, Mr. and Mrs. Chaun-
cey, PL 66a
McCormick family, 89
McFadden Collection, 220
Meissonier, J.-L.-E., 219
Meissonier, Justin Aurele, 15
Melbourne, National Gallery, 231
Melchior, 19
Mellon, Andrew, 100, 121, 127, 169,
17^75, 176, 224-25
Memling, Hans, PL 89
Mendelssohn & Company, 159,
161
Merton, Sir Thomas, PL 61
Meyer, Albert L., 130, 160, 161, 170,
233, 270
Mignard, Pierre, 271, 272
Millerand, Etienne Alexandre, 205
Milliken, William M., 220, 222
Miner, Dorothy, 242
Minneapolis Museum, 223, Pis. 90,
95
Mino da Fiesole, 71
Modestini, Mario, 228
Modigliani, Amadeo, 156
287
INDEX
Moitessier, Madame, Portrait of,
PI. 78
Molinier, Emile, 74
Monaco, Princesse de, 30
Monconseil, Marquise de, 93
Monet, Claude, 155, 178, PI. 91
Monet, Michel, PI. 67
Monfried, Daniel de, PI. 66a
Montespan, Marquise de, 164
Montigny, 275
Moreau (18th century), 107, 195,
272
Moreau, Gustave, 149
Morgan, John Pierpont, 19-22, 24,
26, 32-34, 38, 39, 46, 47, 66-67,
69-77, 82, 98, 100, 119, 191, 258,
274, Ph. 2b, 5, 6, 7, 8a-d, 9a, 9b,
10a, 10b, lib, 12a,b, 13, 14, 15, 19
Morgan, John Pierpont, Jr., 77, 115
Morgan Collection, 9, 89, 220
Morgan Library. See New York,
Pierpont Morgan Library
Morosoff Collection, 172
Morrison, Betty, viii
Mortimer, Stanley, 111
Mottez, Victor Louis, 188
Moy, Seong, 236
Munsey Fund, 220
Murillo, PI. 98
Murphy, Dr. and Mrs. George E.,
PI 118b
Mussolini, Benito, 176
Napoleon, 30, 51, 61, 62, 74, 95, 194,
219, Pis. 45a, 79
Napoleon III, 31, 51, 94, 97
Nattier, Jean-Marc, 56, 101
Nelson, William Rockhill, 224
Nemes, Marczell von, 79
Neroccio de' Landi, PI. 86
Neves, Henri de, 114
Newman, David, 236
New York
Frick Art Reference Library, viii,
206
Frick Collection, 71, 76, 101, 270,
274-75, Pis. 2a, 15, 18a, 18b
Metropolitan Museum of Art, 9,
13, 19, 20, 21, 22, 70, 72, 73, 74,
75, 76, 77, 86, 89, 101, 120, 133,
135-36, 145, 147, 153, 176, 199,
207, 214-15, 216, 219-20, 245,
254, 258, 268, 269, 274, Pis. 4,
8a-d, 9b, 11a, lib, 12a, 12b, 13,
19, 23b, 36, 40a, 40b, 41a, 58,
60, 80, 83
Museum of Modern Art, 153,
180-81, Ph. 68, 70b, 72
Pierpont Morgan Library, 71, 72,
74, 82, 125, Ph. 2b, 6, 7, 9a, 10a,
10b, 14, 88, 107
Ney de la Moskowa, Princess, PL
110
Nicholas II, Czar of Russia, 62
Nicholas Mikhailovitch, Grand
Duke, 62-63
Normandie, Due de, 107
Oeben, Jean-Francois, 101
O'Keeffe, Georgia, 221
Oppenheim, Baron Albert von, 69,
70, 74, Ph. 9a, lib
Orcagna, Andrea, PI. 123
Oriental art works, 89, 140, 198,
200, 266
Orleans, Due d', 93, 101, PI 128
Orley, Bernard van, 46
Ormolu, 15, 101, 107, 274, 275, 276,
277
Oxford, Ashmolean Museum, 204
Pach, Walter, 232
Pafrat, 276
Paine, Robert Treat, II, PI. 119
288
INDEX
Pajou, 274
Paley, Princess, PI. 32
Paley, William S., Ph. 66b, 67
Palmer, Mrs. Potter, 153
Palmer Collection, 89
Pannemaker, William, 114, 143
Pannwitz, Walter von, 11
Paris
Banque de France, 165, PI. 29
Bibliotheque Nationale, 56, 59
Bibliotheque Royale, 204
Eglise des Minimes, PI. 110
Musee des Arts Decoratifs, 15,
212, 268
Musee Carnavalet, 10, 185, 270
Musee de Cluny, 10, 26, 59, 74
Musee Guimet, 10, 140
Musee Jacquemart-Andre, 12,
254
Musee du Jeu de Paume, 155
Musee du Louvre, 10, 22, 26, 27,
57, 58, 59, 72, 74, 101, 107, 122,
152, 153, 187, 188, 212, 219,
232, 254, 273, 276, Pis. 1, 24, 79,
117, 124, 128
Musee des Monuments Francais
(Trocadero), 71, 146-47
Musee Nissim de Camondo, 15,
270, 274
Petit Palais, 12
Parker, Mrs. Theresa D., viii, 182,
236
Pascal, Andre. See Rothschild,
Baron Henri de
Pastre, Count Andre, 108
Pater, J.-B., PI. 23a
Paulme, Madame, 212
Paulme, Marius, 211
Paxton, Sir Joseph, 51
Payne Bill, 75
Peale, Charles W., 226
Pellerin, Auguste, 152
Pelletier, Eugene, 208-9, PI. 54
Perronneau, Jean-Baptiste, 106-7,
140, 141, 195
Petschek family, 164
Philadelphia, Episcopal Academy,
PI. 112
Philadelphia Museum of Art, 101,
153, 220, PI. 74a
Phillips, Duncan, 153
Phillips Collection. See Washing-
ton, D.C., Phillips Collection
Picasso, Pablo, 41, 152, 153, 154,
155, 174, 179-80, 183, 199, 222,
Ph. 68, 69, 92, 94a, 94b
Pichon, Baron Jerome, 13
Pigalle, 273
Pillsbury, Alfred F., 223
Pilon, Germain, 216, 254
Piot Collection, 12
Pisanello, 121, 262
Pisano, Giovanni, 143
Pissarro, Camille, 154
Pittman, Hobson, 183
Plandiura, Luis, 199, PI. 43
Planiscig, Dr. Leo, viii, 250-53,
256-57
Plant, Morton F., 269, 270
Poincare, Raymond, 161
Polk, Frank L., 214, 215
Pompadour, Marquise de, 53, 85,
100
Pope-Hennessy, John, 262
Porcelains, 16, 19-20, 22, 57, 76, 89,
120, 160, 177
Porter, Mrs. George F., viii, PI. 70a
Portland Art Museum, PI. 126
Poussin, Nicolas, 188, 200
Pratt, Harold I., 148
Prault Collection, Pi. 3
Prentiss Collection, 221
Primoli, Charles Bonaparte, 149
Prince's Gate ( London ) , 74, 76
289
INDEX
Provence, Comtesse de, 107
Prud'hon, Pierre Paul, 101, 188, 271
Puiforcat, Jean, 181
Puy d'Artigny, Chateau du, 164
Quercia, Jacopo della, PI. 27
Quesnel, Francois, 204^5, PI. 50a
Quinn, John, 153, 154
Raeburn, Sir Henry, 157
Raffet, 271
Raleigh, North Carolina, Museum
of Art, 258
Raphael, 76, 114
Rasmussen, George, 276, PI. 31
Rasmussen, Mrs. George, 276
Reau, Louis, viii, 186
Recamier, Madame, 185
Redon, Odilon, 233, Ph. 118a, 118b
Rembrandt, 12, 53, 57, 85, 116, 120,
124, 125, 168, 202, PI. 31
Renders, Emile, 197
Renoir, Pierre-Auguste, 41, 55, 141,
149, 154, 155, 157, 178, 245, 247,
263, Pis. 47, 65, 75b, 93
Reuss, Prince von, 11
Rey, Emile, 19
Reynolds, Sir Joshua, 57
Rhinelander, Frederick W., 219
Riant, Mme. Emmanuel, PI. 80
Ricci, Seymour de, 47
Riccio, Andrea, 14, 110, PI. 42b
Rice, A. Hamilton, 232
Rice Collection, 220, 268
Richardson, Edgar P., 223
Riesener, 101, 107, 226, 274, 276
Rivers, Larry, 236
Rosenfeld, Ernst, PI. 58
Robert, Hubert, 107, 108, 195, 212,
Ph. 32, 102
Roberts, William, 4
Robertson, Martha Barton, viii
Robinson, Edward, 21, 72, 77
Robinson, Edward G., Ph. 73, 75a
Rockfeller, Godfrey S., PI. 81
Rockefeller, John D., Jr., 15, 220
Rodin, Auguste, 85, 250
Rogers Collection, 221
Rohan, Cardinal de, 255
Roosevelt, Theodore, 219
Roosevelt, Theodore, Jr., 118
Root, Elihu, 75
Rorimer, James J., vii
Rossellino, Antonio, 250, 256, 262-
63
Rothschild, Baron Adolphe de, 49,
58, PI. 6
Rothschild, Alain de, 234
Rothschild, Baron Alphonse de, 49-
50, 51, 59
Rothschild, Baroness Alphonse de,
50
Rothschild, Baron Edmond de, 3,
49, 51-55, 57, 58, 59, 163, 273
Rothschild, Baron Edouard de, 49,
51, 55, 59, 212, 234
Rothschild, Baroness Edouard de,
55, 212, 234
Rothschild, Elie de, 234
Rothschild, Eugene de, 49, 135,
269, PI. 23b
Rothschild, Baron Gustave de, 49,
55
Rothschild, Baron Guy de, 58
Rothschild, Baron Henri de, 55-
56,59
Rothschild, Baron James de, 49, 50-
51, 55
Rothschild, Louis de, 49
Rothschild, Baron Maurice de, PI.
6
Rothschild, Baron Mayer Karl von,
PI 9b
290
INDEX
Rothschild, Baroness Nathaniel de,
58
Rothschild, Baron Philippe de, 56
Rothschild, Baron Robert de, 55,
234
Rothschild, Baron Salomon de, 49
Rothschild, Baroness Salomon de,
56
Rothschild family, 2, 48-59, 75
Rouault, Georges, 263
Rousseau, Douanier, 152
Rousseau ( sculptor ) , 273
Roussel, Ker Xavier, 178, 179
Rovensky, Mrs. John E., 269
Rubens, Peter Paul, 57, 261
Ruhlmann, Emile Jacques, 181
Ryan, Thomas Fortune, 24, 85, 91,
129, 137, 138
Ryerson Collection, 89, 153
Sachs, Arthur, 147, Ph. 86, 87, 99
Sachs, Paul J., 238
Sackville, Lady Victoria, 97, 98-99,
102
Sackville family, 46-47
Sackville-West, Vita, 97, 98, 99
Sagan, Palais de, 30-47, 230-31, PI.
17b
Sagan, Prince de, 30, 31
Sagan, Princesse de, 31
Saint-Cloud, Chateau de, 276
Saint Louis, City Art Museum, 220,
PI. 104a
Saitaphernes, Tiara of, 122
Salisbury, Frank O., PI 34b
Salomon, William, 110
Salting Collection, 199
Sambolo Collection, 46
San Francisco, De Young Museum,
120, Ph. 22a, 31
Sansovino, Jacopo, 133, PI. 42a
Santa Croce, Girolamo da, 127
Sant'Agata, Francesco da, 14
Sao Paulo, Brazil, Museu de Arte,
PI. 75b
Sassetta, 214
Sassoon, Sir Philip, 11
Saunier, Claude-Charles, 101, 277
Saxe- Weimar, Duke of, 137
Saxe-Weimar-Eisenach, Archdukes
of, PI. 83
Schaffner, Martin, PI. 104b
Schall, 272
Schapiro, Meyer, 242
Schickler, Baron Arthur de, PI. 84
Schiff, John M., 215
Schiff, Mortimer, 25, 47, 106, 110,
148, 163, 215, 273, 276, Ph. 20, 89
Schiff, Theodore, PI. 127
Schoenbrunn, Castle of, 112, 113
Scorel, Jan van, 224
Scott, Douglas Alexander, 102, 267
Scott, Sir John Murray, 96-98, 99,
102, 255, 267, 271, 272, 274
Sculptures, anonymous medieval,
13, 21, 39, 70-71, 72, 74, 146, 148,
222, 250, 256-57, Ph. 12a, 12b,
13, 84, 126
Sculptures, anonymous renaissance,
13, 87-88, 120, 122, 136, 200, 256-
57, Ph. 60, 127
Seattle Art Museum, PI. 114
Seilliere, Baron Achille, 12, 31, PI.
82
Seligman, Ethlyne, viii, 248-49
Seligman, Collection of Mr. and
Mrs. Germain, 277, Ph. Ill, 117
Seligmann, Andre, 26, 109, 129, 233
Seligmann, Armand, 235
Seligmann, Arnold, 7, 9, 32, 43-45,
79, 235
Seligmann, Francois-Gerard, 231,
233, 235, 268, 271, 276
Seligmann, Jean, 233, 235
291
INDEX
Seligmann, Rene, 130, 156, 160, 233
Seligmann, Simon, 7, 43, 130
Serriere, Jean, 181
Seurat, Georges, 153, 154, 157, 200,
233, 237, 263, Ph. 64a, 64b, 73,
74a
Severance Collection, 220
Seymour, Richard, Lord Yarmouth,
94-95, 107
Sibert, WiUiam L., 118
Siena, San Michele, 14
Sieves, Count de, 30
Simon, Eduard, 10-11, PI. 41a
Simon, James, 10-11, 200, 223
Simpson, Mrs. John W., 85
Sisley, Alfred, 154
Six van Hillegom Collection, 244
Smith College Museum, 156
Sorel, Agnes, 22
Sorolla y Bastida, Joaquin, Frontis-
piece, 85
Soucaret, Madame, 271
Spalding, John T., 153
Spencer, Dr. Herbert L., 227
Spitzer, Frederic, 14, 19, 70, 74, 143,
194, Ph. 7, lib
Stanislas, King of Poland, 93
Stein, Charles, 74
Stein, Gertrude, PI. 92
Stern, Edgar, 101, 186-87, 273, PI.
24
Stern, Mme. Edgar, 186
Stewart, Alexander T., 219
Stieglitz, Alfred, 155
Stietglitz Museum (St. Peters-
burg), 65
Stines, Hugo, 162
Stoclet, Mr. and Mrs. Adolphe,
197-98
Stora, Raphael, PI. 100
Stotesbury Collection, 220
Straight, Michael, PI. 113
Straus, Herbert, 205-7, Ph. 34a, 49,
50a, 51a, 59
Straus, Mrs. Herbert, 205-7, 220,
Ph. 49, 50a, 51a, 59
Straus, Jesse I., 205
Straus, Percy, 205, 212
Strauss, Ottmar, 162
Stroganoff, Alexander Sergejevitsch,
175
Stroganoff Collection, 175, PI. 11a
Strozzi family, PI. 14
Stuart, Gilbert, 226
Stuyvesant, Rutherfurd, 219
Suida, Dr. William, 228-29
Swarzenslci, Dr. Georg, 197
Swenigorodskoi, Alexander, 65, 67
Swenigorodskoi Collection, 65, 66,
72, Ph. 8a-d
Syracuse University, PL 113
Tabourier Collection, PI. 46a
Taft, Charles P., 90
Taft Museum. See Cincinnati, Taft
Museum
Talleyrand, Due de, 51
Tapestries, 12, 13-14, 21, 22, 25, 46-
47, 72, 76, 86, 89, 98, 101, 111,
113-16, 120, 143, 145, 148, 160,
162, 164, 177, 202, 206, 214, 215,
268, 274, 275, 276, 277, Ph. 4, 25,
29, 48, 49
Taunay, 271
Taylor, Francis Henry, vii, xiii, 77,
234
Taylor, John E., Collection, 143,
200
Tesse, Hotel de, 207
Thore-Burger, W., 243-44, 261
Thyssen, Fritz, 162-63, PI. 33
Tiepolo, Giambattista, 40, 42, 51,
168, 245, 261, Ph. 85, 120
Tiepolo, Giandomenico, 261
292
INDEX
Timken, W. R., 269
Tintoretto, Ph. 87, 99
Titian, 28, 157
Tocque, Louis, 271
Toledo Museum of Art, 223
Toronto Art Gallery, PI. 96b
Toulouse, Comte de, 164-65, PI 29
Toulouse-Lautrec, 7, 154, 200, 218,
PI. 63
Trevise, Due de, Ph. 108, 117
Trevor, Clyfford, 156
Trivulzio, Prince, 217
Tschudi, Hugo von, 247
Tuckerman, Lucius, 219
Turner Collection, PI. 102
Urbino, 14, 34
Valentiner, Dr. William R., viii,
223, 231, 253, 257-59
Valenton, Chateau de, 85
Vanderbilt Collection, 220
Van der Hoop Museum (Amster-
dam), 244
Vanderlip, Mr. and Mrs. John R.,
223
Van Dyck, Anthony, 57, 59, 225
Van Eyck, Jan, 57, 176, 231, 240
Van Gogh, Vincent, 151, 154, 157,
178, 179, 247, 263, Ph. 74b, 77
Van Gogh, V. W., PI. 77
Van Gogh-Bonger, Mme. J., PI 77
Van Home, Sir William, 88
Van Loo, Amadee, 271
Varanchon de Saint-Genies Collec-
tion, PI. 51b
Vasto, Marchese del, 71, PI. 2b
Veil-Picard, Arthur, Jr., 108, 276
Veil-Picard, Arthur, Sr., 101, 105-9,
270, 271, 275
Velez Blanco, Patio from, 84, PI.
35b
Vermeer, Jan, 57, 240-41, 243-44,
261, PI 109
Vermeyen, Jan Cornelisz, 114
Vernet, Carle, 271, 272
Vernet, Horace, 271, 272
Veronese, Paolo, 27
Verrocchio, Andrea, 124, 148, 205,
207, 216, PI. 59
Versailles, Chateau de, 15, 101, 232
Versailles, Grand Trianon, 37, 232
Versailles, Petit Trianon, 15, 232
Vestier, Antoine, 107, 271
Viau, Dr. Georges, 155
Victoria, Queen, 51, 96, 97
Vienna, Kunsthistorisches Museum,
251, 252
Vigee-Lebrun, Mme., 13, 111
Villeroy Collection, 121
Vitry, Paul, 253-55
Vollard, Ambroise, 154
Vouet, Simon, 219, PI. 128
Vrilliere, Hotel de la (Banque de
France), 164-65, PI. 29
Vrilliere, Hotel de la (Hotel Talley-
rand), 51
Vuillard, Edouard, 178, 179, Pi. 62b
Waegen, Hans, 156, 232
Wagram, Prince de, PI. 47
Walker, John, 228
Wallace, Lady, 96, 98
Wallace, Sir Richard, 92, 95-97, 99,
101
Wallace-Bagatelle Collection, 12,
49, 92-103, 107, 111, 121, 135,
149, 162, 187, 255, 266-77, Ph. 16,
17, 18a, 18b, 19, 20, 22a, 22b, 23b,
24, 45a
Wallace Collection (London), 49,
95, 96, 97, 98, 100, 101, 135,
200
293
INDEX
Walters, Henry, 19, 22, 25, 49, 84,
110, 121, 130-37, 212, 222, 265,
269, 276, Ph. 23b, 34b, 37, 38,
39a, 39b, 42a
Walters, William T., 131
Walters Gallery. See Baltimore,
Walters Gallery
Washington, D.C., Corcoran Art
Gallery, 273
Washington, D.C., National Gal-
lery, 13, 46, 101, 121, 127, 176,
200, 207, 211, 224-25, 226, 257,
260, 261, 273, Pis. 16, 20, 21a, 21b,
22b, 27, 28, 30b, 59, 86, 87, 102,
105, 115, 116, 122, 123
Washington, D.C., Phillips Collec-
tion, Ph. 62a, 62b
Watteau, Antoine, 112, 195, 232,
240, 272, PI. 51a
Weimar, Bernard von, Pi. 83
Weininger, Richard, Ph. 41b, 42b
Weisweiler, 101
Wertheim, Mrs. Maurice, PI. 91
Wertheimer, Ascher, 4-5
Wertheimer, Charles, 4r-5, 45
Weygand, General, 185
Whalen, Grover, 233
Whitney Collection, 220
Widener, Mrs. George, 12
Widener, Joseph, 13, 46, 84-85, 92,
225-26, 262-63, Ph. 21a, 21b
Widener, P. A. B., 225
Wiener, Philippe, 55, 141, 212
Wildenstein, 19
Wilhelm II, Kaiser, 124, 133
William I, 51
Willys, John N., 89
Wilstach Collection, 220
Wimborne, Lord, 11, 273, PI. 20
Winthrop, Grenville L., 148-50,
270, Ph. 44, 45, 46b, 47
Wittelsbach Collection, PI. 104a
Wolff, Otto, 162
Wolff-Metternich Collection, 70,
Ph. 9b, 10a
Woodwork, 73, 206-7
Worcester Art Museum, PI. 56
Worcester Collection, 89
Wrightsman, Mr. and Mrs. Charles
B., 244-45, 276, PI. 109
Xanto, Fra, 34
Yarmouth, Lord. See Seymour,
Richard
Yerkes Collection, 120, 202
Zouche, Lord, 74
294
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